Bloodline
by arkticangel
Summary: "Hi, I'm Violet Harmon. I was the previous damsel in distress of this home. Welcome to the Murder House, where all your nightmares will come true." A new family moves into the Murder House, and a love triangle begins. The family finds a box, which contains the EXIT of the spirits in the house. Who leaves? Who stays?
1. Beautiful Nightmare

**This is my first AHS I've ever written. So, please be kind. **

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><p>When my family first arrived at our new home, I couldn't have been any more ecstatic. This place was <em>huge! <em>The price of the house, though, was very cheap, which meant that something was wrong with it. I thought the floorboards were broken, or the walls stunk, or maybe even ghosts roamed the halls of this old home. But when I entered the house for my very first time, everything was so serene. Nothing seemed out of place, or out of balance. My parents showed me my room, and within a few days, the main rooms in the house were stocked with all of our belongings. Everything was unpacked, and what ever else needed to be unpacked was put in the basement for unpacking later. My first few nights in the house were great, I've never slept better. Two weeks later, that's when things kind of got weird. For example, I put my hair brush down to text my friend back, and when I went to pick my hair brush back up, it wasn't where I put it - on my counter. It was on the floor. I thought I was going crazy, but I had convinced myself that it fell of the counter and I didn't hear it fall because I was so focused on texting. Yeah, that's it.

The fourth week staying at the house was the weirdest, and probably the scariest. I was sleeping, and woke up feeling hot. I was sweating like a pig. Immediately, I took a shower. God, I hate sweating. After I got out of the shower, I didn't put on my pajamas, I just put on a sports bra and running shorts, and slid under my covers. _There, _I thought to myself. _I won't sweat now. _That's when I heard footsteps coming from my bathroom, and I rolled out of bed so fast, grabbing my softball bat I had tucked under my bed. The bathroom door slammed shut and I covered my mouth, trying not to scream. My body thought for me, I took off towards my bedroom door, trying to leave my room. It was locked from the outside. That's impossible, though, because the lock is in the inside, facing me. _Someone was holding the door. I was trapped. _That's when I started banging on the door as hard as could. "MOM! DAD!" I screamed. "HELP!" I could feel my hands bruising up because of me banging them so hard on the damn door. They hurt so bad now. "HELP!"

"They can't hear you." Whoever it was, it was right behind me. I gripped my bat and swung. My bat hit the wall, leaving a dent in it. Whoops, how am I supposed to explain that to my parents? There was nothing behind me. I tried the door again, but still, it wouldn't open. Why didn't my parents come to me? Could they not hear me? "HELP!" I cried as loud as I could.

"Whoa!" his voice . . . he was back. I couldn't see him because I was facing the door. And I wouldn't dare turn around. "You almost hit me. Good swing, though. Looks like the wall took the hit for me. Ouch. Sorry, wall."

Without turning around, I hissed, "Get. The. _Fuck. _Out of my room!"

I heard him take steps towards me. My heart raced faster than a jet. He was literally right behind me, his lips hovering over my ear. I could feel his cold breath on the side of my head. "Why don't you turn around and say it?"

My clammy hands gripped my bat so hard, that there was no way in taking it from me. Slowly, I turned around. My heart raced faster. _Who is this? _Like before, there was no one there. Overwhelmed, I let my back hit the door behind me as I slid down towards the ground. "I'm going crazy," I said to myself. The air became slightly chillier than before, and I wouldn't dare move. I heard his footsteps, coming from beside my bed. And I saw him. Well, not _him, _but his silhouette. What came out of my mouth was a combination of a whimper, and the noise a puppy makes when it wants it mother. God, I was terrified. What the hell was going on? Was it the house? My head? Was I going crazy?

The next thing I knew, he was right in front of me. I couldn't see much, given that the only light in the room was the dim moonlight coming in through the windows. He was scary gorgeous. "Don't cry," he said, softly. With his finger, he lifted my chin up. I wasn't crying. But I was at the brink of doing so. It felt like something off of a nightmare. A gorgeous man fawning his victim, and then he kills her. I've seen it a few times in different movies, but I can't recall their names.

"You have pretty eyes," he says to me, cocking his head sideways. "Are you okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost." With those last few words, he smirked and took his fingers off my chin. "You shouldn't be afraid. I live here, too. And so do all the other unfortunate souls trapped in this house."

"Leave."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"Stop playing with my head!"

He grabbed my softball bat, and tried to take it from me, but my grip was too strong. "Let go." When I didn't, he said, "Please." I looked into his eyes, trying to find some sort of sign that meant he was going to harm me. But I saw nothing. In his eyes, I saw that he was lost. Confused. Hurt. He didn't want to hurt anyone. I let go of my bat. After he got a good grip on it, he tossed it aside, letting it roll back under my bed. "I promise I won't hurt you." He extended his hand to me. "Hi, I'm Tate. I'm dead. Wanna be friends?"

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><p><strong>Should I write another chapter? REVIEW!<strong>


	2. Violet

Tate had helped me to my feet. I was too light-headed to walk straight, so he led me to my bed. "I'm dreaming," I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "You're not real. You can't be. You said you're dead, and there's no such thing as ghosts."

He laughed and rolled his eyes. "A lot of people believe in not believing, until they step foot in this house." His eyes roamed from my head, to my chest, to my legs, and - feeling exposed - I wrapped my comforter over myself. "Sorry," he said quickly. "Didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I just . . ." He swallowed. "I haven't seen a woman in years." I saw the pain in his eyes that I saw back when he tried to get me to make eye contact with him. Tate's a literal ball of negative emotions.

"Well," I started. "If it makes you feel any better, I've never seen a man. Naked, I mean."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're a virgin?" I nodded. He nodded. "I'm not."

"I kinda figured."

"How?"

"Because you're too hot." My face flushed and I'm glad he didn't see that. "So . . " I wanted to change the subject as fast as I could. "You're . . . dead?"

"As dead as I can be."

"So. I'm not going crazy?"

"No. You're seeing a literal ghost who won't hurt you. I'm a friendly ghost. I'm -"

"You're Casper, the friendly ghost." We both laughed and I looked at my bedroom door. "Why didn't my parents here me? And why couldn't I open my door?"

"Honestly, I was just trying to scare. Which worked. And I locked your door. Oh, and about your parents. I just put them in a super deep sleep. They're safe, though, so don't worry."

"_You _did all of that? Just to scare me?"

"I'm an asshole, I know."

"No, I wasn't going to say that. I was gonna say: you're very clever."

"When you're all alone for ten years, you come up with a thing or two about scaring people. And then you realize that the scare wasn't that great, because you scared a beautiful person."

I felt my lips rising in a smile. "I didn't know ghosts were such flirts."

"Most aren't. Most are just lost. Like me. But I'm a flirt."

"You're a lost flirt."

We didn't say anything else. His eyes spoke, and once again, I saw pain, agony, despair, and it hurt me just as much as it hurt him. It was contagious, the negative emotions. Because I felt his pain. Literally. Tate opened his mouth to say something, and then my rolling chair rolled halfway towards my bed, and I sat up stiff straight, my heart racing again. Tate put his hand on my knee and shook his head.

"Now that they know you can see us, they're gonna try to scare you," he warned me.

"Do you know who it is?"

"Well, I can't see it . . so I think I know who it is."

"Who?"

"My ex. It's Violet."

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><p><strong>Violet <strong>**  
><strong>

She heard someone screaming from the room above - her old room. She went to where the screams were coming from, and saw Tate, sitting on his knees, taking a softball bat from the new girl. Her hair was in a braid - now messy from sleeping - and a sports bra, and running shorts. She was Violet's age - before Violet died. She stood by the counter, watching as Tate wooed the new girl. Tate helped the New Girl to her bed, and sat down with her. When she noticed him staring at her slightly exposed body, she covered herself up with her blanket. Something in Violet's stomach tightened, and she let out a little growl-sound in her throat when she heard Tate and New Girl laugh at something he had said.

Violet hasn't spoken to Tate in ten years, and she thought she was over him. She was, just a little. But that little bit of love still clung to her like a tattoo. Violet walked over to the New Girl's rolling chair, sat in it, and rolled it towards the bed. Both of their heads turned towards Violet. Neither of them could see her yet. Tate put a hand over the New Girl's knee, reassuring her that she's safe, and he shook his head.

"Now that they know you can see us, they're gonna try to scare you," he warned her.

"Do you know who it is?"

"Well, I can't see it . . so I think I know who it is."

"Who?"

"My ex. It's Violet."

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><p>I saw her. That Violet girl that was Tate's ex. Violet was beautiful. She had long, pin-straight blonde hair, her eyes were a dark hazel color, almost brown. She was wearing a long-sleeved black skater dress with a jean vest over it. On her wrists were scars from cutting that were shamefully covered by bracelets. She looked at me for the longest time, and then looked at Tate.<p>

"Long time no see," she said to Tate.

He swallowed hard. "Y-yeah."

"You aren't gonna say hi back?"

Tate said nothing.

"How rude," Violet said, then turned her head towards me. "Hey there, New Girl. I'm Violet. Yeah, I'm his ex. But aside from that, welcome to the Murder House!" her voice was a fake-cheery voice. She had no intention on talking to me in a friendly way. "Me and Tate are only a few of the ghosts that're trapped in this hell hole. Get out while you can. And if you don't, then you might suffer the same fate as all of us." Violet looked at Tate, but was still talking to me. "And don't bother falling for him. Yeah, he's gorgeous, sweet, and a total gentleman, but that won't cover his horrible past. Go ahead, Tate, tell New Girl how you died."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tate added, with a blank expression.

"Or do you want me to tell her?"

He said nothing, nor gestured anything. He just sat there, blinking.

"Alright, _you _tell her. Then she'll suffer the heart break and despair that I suffered." Violet turned towards me. "I'm not going to hurt you, because I'm better than that. Just know this: there are souls in this house that have intentions of hurting you and your parents. Some won't come out until you're at you're weakest, or when you're least expecting it. They can sense when your guard is down. For example, when you're asleep, your guard is completely down, that's how Tate scared you. He got into your mind and made you think you were hot. That's the only reason you woke up, because he made you hot and sweaty." She chuckled. "It's not as sexy as it sounds, huh?"

"Violet," Tate added, cutting her off. "Enough!"

She looked at him for the longest time, then turned her head towards me again. "You're new, so you have no idea what you and your parents are getting yourself into. Tate's bad news, trust me." I turned my head towards Tate, who was so angry at Violet.

"Why should I trust you?" I asked Violet. "You're his ex-girlfriend. I can tell you two don't like each other. It's your job to make his life here a living hell. For all I know, you're making all that up, and what's coming out of your mouth is just word vomit. I don't know what happened between you two, and it's none of my business to know, but you have no right to tell me what to do."

"True," Violet said. "I'm gonna let you suffer the consequences. You're going to learn the hard way, and it won't be pleasant. I'll be here if you need to talk, of course. We all live here, so we're practically family. The only difference is that I'm dead, and you're not. You could die any day now, because they know you can see us. And if you can me and Tate, then you can see any of them." She got up from my rolling chair and extended her pale-white hand. "How rude of me, I almost forgot to ask you, what's your name?"

"My name's Hazel Wilson."

"Pretty name, Hazel. Can I call you Haze?" I nodded. "Good! I feel like my introduction was a little rude so let me just start over. Hi, I'm Vi-"

"I already know your name," I interrupted.

"How about you shut your mouth?" Violet cleared her throat. "Hi, I'm Violet Harmon. I was the previous damsel in distress of this home. Welcome to the Murder House, where all your nightmares will come true."

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><p><strong>Please REVIEW and let me know what you thought c:<strong>


	3. Grapes, Gazebo, Gone

The next few days, I didn't see Tate, nor did I see Violet. I sensed them, though. Whenever I walked down the stairs, I felt Tate's presence behind me in each step of the way, and when I went into the kitchen, I felt the presence of a different spirit, and Violet. I don't understand how I wasn't afraid, maybe because I already knew that there were multiple spirits here, or maybe because of Tate. He made me feel safe, which was odd. This whole thing, living in a house where spirits lived, was so surreal.

"Do you need help cooking?"

I stopped mid-step, seeing a woman, around Mom's age. She had long, wavy, strawberry-blonde hair, a light complexion with a few wrinkles by her eyes, a small amount of freckles on her cheeks, and beautiful blue eyes. She didn't look like she was going to harm me.

"Oh, did I scare you?" she asked me. I couldn't speak because I was too busy processing the fact that another ghost just approached me. "Yeah, I did. Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. But I heard your stomach growl. None of my children can actually eat, so this will relieve some of my maternal stress. What do you want to eat? If you don't want a big meal I can cook you some mac n' cheese if you want. Some mashed potatoes with gravy? How about something heavier like ribs? Steak?"

"Are you . . . Violet's mom?" I asked, seeing the resemblance between them. Their faces were nearly the same.

"Yes, I am. And, that's good that you met Violet." She looked through all of our cabinets and pantries until she found a box of macaroni and cheese. She went to the fridge and got the necessary ingredients for making the food. "Violet's been so lonely since the last family moved. And since her and Tate. . ." she shook her head. "Never mind, we don't speak of that. But, yeah. My little girl could use a friend right now. It's been years since she actually had a conversation with someone her age." She put the milk and macaroni in the small pot and turned to me. "I'm Vivien Harmon," she leaned in and hugged me like how any mother would hug her child. She was so cold. "Think of me like your second mom."

"Um," I started. "A-alright. And I'm Hazel."

"Hazel what?"

"Hazel Michelle Wilson."

"What a pretty name!" Vivien turned around and continued to add butter to the little pot of mac n' cheese. Then, I heard the faint sound of a baby crying. It was close. A tall, handsome man holding a baby walked into the kitchen. He looked at me and then at Vivien.

"Viv, Benjamin won't stop crying," he said in a tired voice. Vivien stopped stirring and went to the man, then grabbed hold of the baby. Immediately, the baby stopped crying. Benjamin grabbed Vivien's thumb and she smiled lovingly at him. "Who's she?" The man pointed at me.

"Her name's Hazel Michelle Wilson. She lives here now, along with her parents," Vivien answered. She turned her head to me. "Hazel, this is my husband, Ben. Ben, this is Hazel." Ben extended his hand. I shook it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harmon," I said.

He nodded. "Same." Ben eye-balled me and said, "Can I ask you something?" I nodded. "Have you met a guy named Tate yet? He lives here?"

"Yeah," I answered. "He scared the hell out of me last night."

"He's a dick."

"Violet doesn't like him either. What ever the reason is, I don't want to know. It's their business, not mine."

"Smart girl!"

"YOUR FOOD!" Vivien exclaimed, handing Benjamin back to Ben and turning off the stove. "I almost burned it, oh gosh." She grabbed a bowl from a cabinet and served it to me. "I hope this tastes good. I haven't cooked in _years! _Tell me what you think." I tried the mac n' cheese, and, to be honest, it wasn't bad at all. It was actually better than Mom's. Well, as good as out-of-the-box mac n' cheese can get. I ate two bowls of it and chugged some grape soda to wash it down.

"I think I like it here," I said, smiling up at Vivien.

"Has anyone . . . any_thing, _tried to hurt you yet?" Vivien asked, wrinkles building up in between her eyebrows in concern.

"No," I answered. "Wait, what? _Yet_?"

"You have to be careful with who you communicate, and who you see. For example, me, Ben, Violet, and little Benjamin are no harm. But there are dangerous spirits in this house who _will _try to hurt you. We can try to protect you and your family, but just . . . don't let your parents try to have a baby. Trust me, it won't go well. How do you think my baby Benjamin got here?"

"They killed your baby?" I was kind of getting more and more terrified by the minute.

"No, but let me tell you this . . ." Vivien told me about how she got pregnant, and how she was carrying twins for six months, until the biggest, and healthiest one decided it was time to enter the world. The small, frail one - Benjamin - died due to early birth and lack of nutrients, Michael - the bigger fetus - is alive and out there somewhere in the world. Vivien told me about Ben's infidelity with a college student named Hayden, and she's also in this house. She warned me about her, and said if she ever came close to me, to just close my eyes and say, "Go away," and she'll be gone. She said that I can say that to any spirit, and they'll vanish, so I won't see them ever again unless I really want to.

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><p>The sun was about to set, and I sat in my backyard, under the gazebo that was painted a new coat of white, to hide the patches of wood that were revealed due to weather slowly taking off the paint form so many years ago. Dad had put small flower pots around the gazebo, which held Mom's favorite flowers: tulips. Tulips of all colors; red, orange, yellow, white, pink, and many more. Where he found such pretty flowers, I'll never know. Mom and Dad were working, so I was home alone for the day until the sun went down, and that's when my parents usually got home. Mom rented an office downtown, which she used to paint and build sculptures, while Dad got an offer to be a doctor at the local hospital - it pays a lot better, too.<p>

I sat on one of the seats in the gazebo and ate grapes from a bowl, and I heard feet shuffling behind. Not directly behind me, but it was distant. Like a pair of feet running through bushes, or leaves. Or something. All I know is that I heard _ something. _I stood up and walked near the trees that separated my backyard from the neighbor's. No one was there. "I swear to God," I murmured. "I'm going crazy." I turned around and walked back to the gazebo.

"Hello?"

I jumped, almost dropping the bowl of grapes I was holding. "_Jesus Christ!_" I turned around on my heel, swiftly and quickly, and saw a woman with fine wrinkles on her face, but her mere presence seemed to light up the dingy atmosphere of my gloomy backyard. She was beautiful for a woman of her age. She was wearing a blue dress which reached her calves, and little blue heels to make her look a bit taller than what she already was. Her light blonde hair was in curls, and her eyes were caked with eye shadow to make them pop. It worked, though. She looked gorgeous.

"I'm sorry, darling," she said in a cheery, motherly voice. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm your next door neighbor, Constance Langdon." She walked closer to me and leaned in to hug me just as Vivien had done. The bowl of grapes was the only thing separating us. She pulled away and looked at my face, examining it, as if I was a paper written in a different language. "Has anyone told you you're very pretty?" She sighed. "I remember when I was that young and beautiful." Constance laughed a little, like a giggling school girl. "I remember when I had all the boys just wrapped around my little finger!" She cleared her throat and gestured towards the house. "Is it alright if I come inside? It's getting a bit chilly out here."

I looked down at myself and saw the difference between our clothes: she was wearing a dress, while I was wearing a sweater, jeans, and boots. I was warm, she was not. "Yeah," I answered. "My parents are on their way back from work." Before we even took a step, she turned around and yelled, "Honey, c'mon!" Then she turned to me. "I'm sorry, my son is just being stubborn. He isn't much of a talker. Is it okay if he comes inside, too?"

Then, I saw him. A tall, handsome boy, no older than me. He had dirty blonde hair, and blue eyes. His face looked so familiar. But at the same time, I know I've never seen him before. "Who's he?" I asked. "Oh, God . . of course, sorry. He's your son. Yeah, he can come inside. But you and him have to stay in the kitchen until my parents get home."

"Oh, thank you!" She hugged me again, and as she pulled away from me, her son had already caught up her. He was wearing a long-sleeved blue flannel button-up and pressed blue-jeans. His shoes were black and brand-spankin'-new. He looked so familiar. And beyond gorgeous. I couldn't make eye contact with him yet, I was having a hard time looking at him. I led them inside my house and both stood in front of the kitchen island while I put a little pot on the stove, the same one that Vivien used to make my lunch.

"I'm making hot chocolate, do you two want some? How about some coffee? Tea, maybe?" I asked, trying to be as polite as Mom is to her guests. I felt like I was overwhelming them. I was hoping I wasn't, though.

Constance's son nodded. "Hot chocolate would be nice."

"Tea, please," Constance answered. I took out my parents' big, tin box of tea bags and opened it for her.

"There's pumpkin spice, green, black, ginger, mint and sugar cookie. Pick what ever you'd like," I said, ending my sentence with a friendly smile. I could feel her son's eyes on me, and it made my stomach clench. I quickly made the hot chocolate, and grabbed two mugs, pouring the steaming hot, chocolaty goodnes into them. I put one mug in front of Constance's son and grabbed a can of whipped cream. I gestured it to him with my eyebrows raised at weird angles. That made him chuckle, silently, making the corners of his lips rise. With no words, he took it from me, and after he'd used it, he passed it back to me, nodding at me, wordlessly saying, "Thank you."

"Pardon me, young lady," Constance said. I looked at her, sipping my hot cocoa. "May I use your bathroom?" I nodded.

"Go up the stairs and take a left, second door to your right." She said thank you, got up form her seat and walked out of the kitchen. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, and she looked like she knew where she was going. There wasn't any sign of confusion or wander in her stride. _ It was as if she had already been here before. __  
><em>

"I should've introduced myself," I said to Constance's son. "My name's Hazel Wilson."

"And I should have spoken before we even came in here. Sorry." He extended his hand. Yet another hand for me to shake. I swear, I've shaken more hands in the past week in this house than a pastor has at his church in his entire life time. "I'm Michael Langdon." I shook his hand, and felt the lump in my throat drop fast, and hit the pit of my stomach. _Michael? As in . . . Vivien's Michael? _He has her eyes, and her facial structure, but there was something else about him that seemed too familiar to me. He looked nothing like Ben. But I'm probably hallucinating. There are tons of Michaels on Earth. This Michael can't possibly be Viviens. Can it?

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><p><strong>Yeah, this chapter is pretty long, but it's worth it, I swear c: <strong>

**Thank you for reading! REVIEW and let me see what you thought please!**

**[ I won't post another chapter until I get at least one review ]**


	4. Cold Night

**ENJOY!**

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><p>The night air felt too good on my skin. I usually preferred the cold weather over the warm, because it's easier to warm up than it is to cool down. That night, I snuck out of my house through the back door in the kitchen, and sat in the gazebo with a thermal cup of hot chocolate. It was mid-November, which wasn't super cold, but also wasn't warm enough for shorts and a tank top. Just in case I got too cold, I had brought a blanket with me. It was nice outside. I kind of missed the sound of crickets in the summer, and the occasional flicker of light that came from fireflies. But tonight, there was nothing. Actually, in the cold, the nights were silent. As if the cold had frozen all the noises and nocturnal creatures of the night. Everything was so quiet. It was that peaceful type of quiet, but after a few hours of me being out there, it got kind of creepy. Not a noise to be heard. It was like those silent scenes in scary movies, and after a while, a jump-scare would come along. It felt like that. Like as if something was going to pop out of no where any minute now and scare me for the millionth time I've been here - at this house.<p>

_Thwank. _

Something hit the bottom of the gazebo, and bounced past my foot. A rock, maybe? I flashed the light of my phone onto the ground, and saw that it was a pebble. A perfectly white, smooth, oval pebble. But . . who threw it? _Thwank. _Another one. I looked around, almost panicking, and flashed my light around. "Hello?" I called. "It isn't funny." _Thwank. _It bounced off my foot - which was safely concealed by my black slippers. "Come out." _Thwank. _Then I heard someone chuckle. The person came out from behind a tree, throwing a pebble up and down into the air, which landed accurately on the palm of his hand. "Michael? What the hell? You scared me."

He walked towards me, putting the pebble in his pocket, and with that, followed his hands. He shielded his hands in his pockets, I'm guessing he was trying to warm them. "You do a lot of that, getting scared, I mean," he said. Michael walked towards the gazebo I was sitting under, and stopped right in front of it. "Is it okay if I join you?"

"Yeah, there's plenty of space."

He sat down next to me. "What're you doing out so late? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I should be asking you that, too."

"I'll answer if you answer."

"Fine. I'm out here because I like the cold. Like, haven't you noticed that everything's so much quieter when the nights are cold? And when it's quiet you have to be distracted by all the outside noise, and you can _think. _It's so peaceful out here. Especially here, in the gazebo. It's a lot comfier than sitting on the roof of my old house. I prefer sitting on a bench than sitting on old roofing that cuts my legs."

Michael chuckled. "That's deep."

"The cuts?" I chuckled. "Yeah, I have a few battle scars."

"No," he laughed with me. "I meant the reason why you're out here."

"So, why're you out here?"

"I can't sleep at night. I sleep during the day. The night's great."

"You're a bat." I bit back a chuckle. "Batman."

He smirked and shook his head. "More like . . . Son of Darkness." We gave each other serious, stern looks, and at the same time, we laughed. Our laughter made us laugh even harder, until we realized it wasn't that funny, so we calmed down. "I don't think I've ever laughed that hard over literally nothing." Michael purposely bumped my knee with his own, and nodded, "Hey, you go to school?"

"Online school," I answered.

"That means you have all day to yourself? The house, too?"

I was getting curious on where this would all lead. "Most of the time, unless my parents are off. Why?"

"You wanna hang out tomorrow? I have a few movies we can watch, and I can cook. I would take you somewhere nicer to eat but . . . money doesn't buy happiness."

I felt my eyebrows raise. I didn't mean for them to do that. "I hardly know you, Michael Langdon. You could be a psychotic killer."

Michael laughed a little harder than called for, for that joke. "I assure you, you're safe with me."

"I . . ." I thought of Tate, and thought about how he made me feel. And . . . Michael made me feel the same way. Which was painful to say, kind of. "What time should I come over?"

Michael shook his head. "No worries. I'll come by and walk you to my house. It'd be rude of me to just let you walk alone." Then, he looked at his watch, which he uncovered from under his black sweatshirt. "I should get home. Mom should be home by now, and she doesn't like it when I'm out this late." We both got up, because I felt my eyes getting heavy. I was tired.

"I have to get home, too. I'm exhausted," I added.

Michael stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and nodded. We both walked opposite directions and then I heard him say, "I guess I'll . . ." I stopped walking and turned on my heel. Even in the dim light brought to us by the half moon in the cloudless sky, he looked exotically beautiful. "Could I . ." He stepped closer to me, and I swear, I held my breath. "Could I hug you?" I opened my mouth to answer, but he leaned down and wrapped his arms around me. His embrace wasn't tight, nor was it loose. And, oh, he was so warm. He slowly pulled away and we held eye contact for the longest time. I thought he was going to kiss me. "I'll see you tomorrow around seven. Is that a suitable time?" he asked me, and I nodded. "Good." He cracked a smile. "I'll see you at that time."

We went our separate ways, and all through the house, I felt an uneasy vibe, as if the spirits were mad at me. Which got me in the most anxious state of paranoia I've ever been in. I locked myself in my room and put my thermal cup on my bedside table as I crawled under my covers. I turned on my side, to try and fall asleep, and I felt something hard poke me in the hip. I flinched, sitting up and digging my hand in the pocket of my sweatpants to see what the hell was hurting me. I retrieved what ever it was and bit my lip when I saw what it was: one of the small, white, perfectly oval pebbles that Michael was tossing at me. I put it in the drawer of my bedside table and laid my head down to sleep - serious, this time, though. I wanted to sleep.

I felt it. His eyes on me. God, the glare hurt. I knew it was him. Who else could it be? I balled my fist into my blanket and clenched my teeth. I knew he was right behind me, standing beside my bed. I sighed and sat up, facing him. "Hey, Tate."

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><p><strong>REVIEW IF YOU WANT ANOTHER CHAPTER!<strong>

**Q: SHOULD HAZEL GO ON THE DATE WITH MICHAEL? WHAT DO YOU THINK WILL HAPPEN? HOW DO YOU THINK TATE WILL HANDLE THIS? REVIEW!**


	5. Chin-up, Princess

**NOTE: I ONLY UPDATE AS LONG AS I GET ONE OR MORE REVIEW ON EACH CHAPTER**

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><p>"Why'd you invite him in?"<p>

"I was being a friendly neighbor," I said. "What's it to you, anyway?"

"He can't come in this house."

"You're being hostile."

"Don't bring him in here anymore."

"Why?"

"Just don't. He's bad news."

"TATE!"

"WHAT?"

I took a deep breath. "How do you know Michael? Obviously something's happening. Or, _happened. _Tell me."

"Has anyone told you anything else? About Michael?"

"Vivien told me about the twins she had when she was pregnant. But, she died. Obviously. Do you know about the twins? You know that one died, right? And the other survived? The one that survived has a name, his name is Michael. But there're dozens of guys named Michael so I doubt it's that one."

"You brought him in this house with a woman named Constance, right?" He asked. I nodded. "Constance is my mother." That last sentence came out forced, as if he didn't want to say it. And I doubt he did.

"Michael's your brother?" I asked. _Oh, God. I have a crush on a ghost and his brother. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus._

Tate's face twisted into this wicked smirk that sent shivers up my arms. "He's not my brother."

"Then, what is he to you? Because obviously you're freaking out over something serious. If it wasn't serious I doubt you would be acting like this!"

He was biting his lip so hard, I thought he was going to bite it off. "He isn't my mom's son. She adopted him after Vivien died."

"That's why you were freaking out?"

"No . . but," he stopped, taking a breath. "Don't trust him. Just, don't. Be careful with him. I can't tell you what to do, because I'm not your father, but I can help guide you, because I'm your friend. My little words of wisdom will be this: don't see him tomorrow."

"You eavesdropped?" I felt a bit of anger flowing inside me.

"It's hard not to when there's a stranger on our property. You have no idea how crazy these ghosts got when he stepped inside this house! The doctor downstairs went haywire, and Hayden wanted to go after him. Those ignorant, blonde twins tried to destroy the house and as for the other ghosts . . . don't get me started!"

"Tate . . ." I said. "I'm tired. I'll talk to you tomorrow. After I come back from Michael's." He vanished.

* * *

><p>Michael was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt that was covered by a black leather jacket, in honor of this chilly weather. His jeans were light-wash and his shoes were as white as his shirt. His dirty-blonde, shaggy hair was slicked back - freshly washed - and his blue eyes seemed to pop along with all the light colors he was wearing. He looked great. "Ready to go?" He asked.<p>

"Let me get my purse, and I'll be ready. You can come in if you want." He came in and I jogged upstairs, racing into my room, grabbing my purse and taking one last look in the mirror. I was critiquing myself on what I was wearing: a long-sleeved dark-blue floral top, a black skater skirt which brought the flowers in my shirt, and dark-blue flats. My purse was as black as my skirt. My red-auburn hair was in a side braid I sighed, seeing Tate behind me. I didn't turn around yet. I kind of liked staring at him, all tall and mysterious, standing there by my bed. He walked closer to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. He was so cold.

"Don't," he murmured.

"Let go," I said just as softly. The words hurt me more than it hurt him. I turned around to face him, but he was gone. I kind of missed his presence. I walked out of my room, taking a second to look back, trying to see if Tate returned. But he didn't. I swallowed the guilty knot in my throat and walked down the stairs.

"Why the long face?" Michael said as I got to the bottom of the stair case. He put his finger under my chin and raised it, like how Tate did the night I met him. "Chin up, princess. Your tiara's falling." I cracked a smile and went out the front door, with him following.

* * *

><p>The inside of Michael's house was like something out of an old magazine. So beautiful and eye-catching with all it's little knickknacks and bright colors. The farther we got from the kitchen, the darker the colors got. Michael's room was the darkest. The walls were a dark red color, and there a single window, over-looking the backyard, and some trees. And, in the distance, if you focus hard enough, you can see the gazebo in my backyard. In his room were the basics: a bed, a dresser drawer, a closet, and a desk - that had sketches scattered all over. I walked towards his desk as he said, "Do you want anything to drink? To eat? Just ask and I'll bring."<p>

"Soda would be nice right now. Kinda need the caffeine." He nodded and walked out. I went to his desk and looked through the sketches. Some were mess-ups, which he angrily smeared and erased. But others, were breath taking. In one of them - close to the bottom - was a drawing of a girl. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she was reading a book, in the gazebo. She looked so familiar. Well, of course it did. That was me in the drawing. The next few drawings were of eyes, of all different colors. Blue, green, hazel, brown, all had different emotions in them. The dark brown ones caught my attention first. They were big and glassy, with the indication of a tear coming in. Those eyes look hurt, afraid, confused, in need of help. The first thing that came to my mind was: Tate. Those were Tate's eyes._  
><em>

"Here ya go."

I looked up and saw Michael. He was looking at me in concern, as if he didn't want me to see his drawings. "You draw really good. I was just admiring your work." His facial expression changed completely. "You drew all of these?"

"Y-yeah, I did."

I held up the drawing of the girl, of me. "Is this supposed to be me?"

Michael smirked. "It's funny, really." He took the drawing from me and turned it over to the back. The date read: _8/13/18 _, and I looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. "I drew this two years ago."

"And it's of me?" I asked. "Or does it conveniently look like me."

"Yeah, it's you. Why do you think I couldn't talk to you the first time I saw you? Not because you're too pretty and it kind of intimidates, to be honest," we both laughed. "But, because I didn't know what to say. I see visions of people all the time. Like, I know who's going to win the lottery, and when. Next week on Wednesday, and the winner will be some woman with the initials of W.M.T. If you don't believe me, watch the news. I also know that your mother is going to sell one of her paintings for five-thousand dollars to this wealthy Indian-Asian man who's coming to her store in a month. He buys it, of course. And, I know when my mother is going to find the man of her dreams. Five months from now, she'll run into some man in a grocery store, he'll help her find what ever she's looking for, and they'll get married in three months."

"Are you sure you're not crazy?" I asked, sarcastically.

He leaned back towards the wall and pointed at the drawing of me. "I drew this because I saw you in one of my visions. I didn't mean for you to find it, by the way. But you did, which led me to tell you that I'm psychic. I didn't see what you were going to do in the future, or why you were in my vision. But, it happened, and I had to draw you, because I didn't know if I would forget how you looked. And, besides . . " he put the drawing back on his desk. "You're too pretty to _not _draw." We stood there for a brief moment, smiling at each other. Until his cheeks turned red and he pointed behind me. "Let's watch a movie before it gets dark outside." We watched a horror movie about a guy who traps five people in the bottom of a dried-up well and starves them. It was a sick, twisted game, really. Survival of the fittest, was the reason why that wicked man did that. I saw two people turn cannibals and eat the oldest man after beating him to death. Michael and I laid on his bed, facing the TV. I jumped whenever there was a jump-scare, and Michael always laughed when I jumped. I hate scary movies because I'm so jumpy and it feels like my heart goes up to my throat every time I'm startled. After my millionth scare, Michael put his arm around me and pulled me closer to him.

"Let's see if you get scared now," he said in the softest voice. He gave me tingles I've never experienced before and oh, about him being warm, gosh, he was like a heater, and I loved every moment of it. My bare legs were exposed to his cold, air-conditioned room, and his body heat was perfect for my freezing twigs I called my legs. After the movie, I got a phone call from Dad. He was asking what time I was getting home, I said an hour. We said our 'I love yous' and hung up. Michael cooked some sort of Italian soup with chicken broth, chicken breast, spinach and some other veggies - which tasted so heavenly. "Michael," I said, tasting the soup for my very first time. "My taste buds died and went to Heaven. Props to the chef!"

"Yeah, he did a great job, huh?" He smirked at me as he ate. Even the way he ate was attractive. Would I ever get tired of his devilish good looks? After an hour, Michael brought me home, and I knocked on the front door, because it was locked. I saw Michael looking into the window that overlooked the living room. There was nothing there, and yet he was smirking at something. Smirking in a way that made him look like a villain, his face all twisted like Tate's. _Could Michael see him? Could he see ghosts, in general? _"What're you seeing?" I asked. _  
><em>

"Oh, nothing. You have someone else in your house. And they don't like me."

Dad opened the door, and smiled down at me, and then looked at Michael. "You brought her home at exactly ten! That's a first . . but, anyways, thanks for taking care of our daughter, Michael."

"It was my pleasure, Mister Wilson. We had a great time."

"Mister Wilson? Oh, Christ, no. Call me Shawn. You can only call me Mister Wilson if you're one of my patients from the hospital, and I don't think see you with a broken arm. Yet." I nudged Dad in the side and he laughed. Michael had the most serious poker face I've ever seen, it made me laugh a little. "I was just kidding, sheesh. Kids these days are so serious. I hope you know I was kidding." He patted Michael on the shoulder. "No harm done, right, kiddo?"

"None at all, Mister - - I mean, Shawn," Michael answered. "I have to go. My mom is gonna flip if I'm not home soon."

"Take care, Michael."

Michael said, "Same to you, sir," and looked at me. "Goodnight, Hazel. I'll see you." I don't know if that means _I'll see you later _or if that means _I'll see you in my visions, _or both. But, regardless, I said, "Goodnight. I'll see you." I shut the door and saw that Dad was already half way up the stairs, but he turned around when he heard the door shut and he posed dramatically like a little school girl, saying in his highest, girliest voice, "Oh, Michael, my darling, I'll see you!" He pressed his back to the wall and slid down dramatically, "I'll see you!"

"DAD!" I couldn't contain my laughter.

He stood up straight and raised an eyebrow at me. In his most serious, deepest, official voice he said, "I shall see you." He said nothing else. He just turned around, and walked to his bedroom, where I'm guessing Mom was asleep. I was about to walk up the stairs, until I saw Vivien in the kitchen. I looked upstairs to double check that my parents were in their rooms. The _click _from their bedroom door confirmed that they were in there. I walked into the kitchen and saw Vivien better. She was hunched over the kitchen island, her fists in balls pressed against her face. I put a hand on her back.

"My baby," she said, crying so hard that she coughed. "He's so big." Now, I was hugging her. "He looks so much like . . ." She cried harder. I could feel her cold hands grabbing at my top. "Please watch over him. Please. He's my only living child. Please take care of him. I know I can't, because I'm dead. But he's my son." She pulled away, revealing smeared mascara under her eyes. "I'm sorry. I - - I saw him outside and I swear, I didn't know who he was. But then I felt this urge to . . to hug him and want to hold him, and then you said his name and it clicked. My son . . " the waterworks came again, and I held her for longer. Violet appeared from the corner of the kitchen and shook her head at me. Then, she vanished.

"I'll watch over him," I said, trying to comfort Vivien. "He's a good kid. Constance raised him well."

"Constance has my baby?"

"She's a good mom."

She cried again. "I thought I'd never see him again. I never got to take a good look at him before I died. Now that I actually take a good look at my son, he's just so . ."

"Handsome?" I said, filling in the blank.

"Y-yeah. God, it kills me inside because he looks so much like his father."

"If it's okay for me to ask, who's his dad? But he looks nothing like Ben, no offense. No one actually told me. Tate told me Michael was your son, but he didn't say anything else."

She tried smiling, but her lips quivered. "Why don't you ask Tate who the father is? He knows. It's best for you to get the answer from him, because I know you two are close. And it'll be better for him to tell you, because if I do I might just break down. If he cares about you, he'll tell you." She wiped away her tears and swallowed hard. "Go on to bed. I bet you're exhausted." I exited the kitchen, and when I turned around to say goodnight, she was gone. I hated that, the silent goodbyes that were never said. I'm not sure if she meant to disappear, or if it's just a ghostly instinct, but I hated it.

I went to my room and locked the door. "Tate?" I called, being careful not to wake my parents. As soon as I said his name, the air around me became colder, and I knew exactly where he was. I felt his cold chest pressed up against my back, and every muscle in my body wanted to melt onto him. I turned around, facing his whiter-than-paper face. He was so gorgeous. "Who's -"

"I heard your conversation with Vivien," he interrupted. He didn't look amused.

"Good. Because I need to ask you something, and I hope it isn't who I think it is. Who is Michael's father?"

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><p><strong>Q: What do you think Hazel will do when she finds out the truth? What do you think will happen between her and Tate? Her and Michael? Let me know what you think by REVIEWing!<strong>

**P.S. Your answers influence the decisions of those characters!**

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	6. Sneaking In

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><p>I almost fell over when I heard Tate tell me. He had to hold onto me and lead me to my bed, but I pushed him away. "How could you do that to Violet?" I asked him. "Was Ben with Vivien when this all happened? If her stillborn child yours, too?"<p>

"Before you get any ideas, let me explain," Tate tried to grab onto my arm but I moved backwards, closer to my pillows on my bed. "I got Vivien pregnant way before I even met Violet. I did it for Nora, she's a ghost here. She really wanted a baby, and she's like a mother to me and I didn't want to see her in pain anymore."

"So you caused the Harmon family pain in exchange for Nora's happiness?"

"I did love Violet, and that's why it hurt so bad after I did it. I loved her, and when she found out, she shut me out. She shut me out and I couldn't stand it. I can't stand being alone, Hazel. And when you came here, everything changed. Yeah, other families with teenage daughters have moved here before, and I became their friend, but I haven't felt this way since I met Violet."

"Well, I'm not Violet."

"I know you're not." He sat on my bed. "I'm not a monster. I swear."

"You didn't answer the rest of my questions, Tate."

"The other child isn't mine. It's Ben's. I guess Vivien was unlucky enough to have two fertile eggs," he gave a weak chuckle. "I've never seen my son until you brought him in. I didn't even know he was my kid until I saw my mom. And I know that it was my kid, that she took him from the Harmons after they all died. She's always wanted a _normal, _sane kid. But he's kind of more twisted than I , she's getting old. But - - he looks like me, and it's kinda scary. He's bad news, Hazel. You don't know what happens when a spirit and a human have a child. Michael's the literal son of the devil."

"And you're the father," I repeated.

"I'm not evil!" His face turned red with anger, then he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm . . sorry. It's inevitable. If I was a good ghost - which I am - and I had a child with a human saint, it would still be the son of the Devil. He's evil, and I can't watch you get hurt."

"Michael is no harm to me. If anything, I think you're more harm to me than he is." Tate stepped back, hurt by the words that I escaped my mouth. "I can't believe you would do that."

"I didn't know that my child would be that evil."

"Your actions have consequences, Tate. And what you did was unforgivable."

"I'm not asking for your forgiveness, because I didn't do this to you. I know that the Harmons will never forgive me for what I did. Trust me, I've tried contacting them but they've shut me out. I'm alone, Haze." I felt my stomach tighten when he called me that. "I'm alone and I hate it. You're the only person that I care about, and I can't allow you to see Michael anymore."

"You're not my father. I can see whoever I'd like to."

"He'll hurt you."

"You don't know that."

* * *

><p>Days passed, and I hadn't heard from Michael. Sometimes, when I was on a morning jog with Dad, I would see him coming out of his house in his pajamas to get the mail, but after he saw that we jogged in the mornings, he stopped going outside at that time. I stopped jogging with my dad because I needed to catch up with a few school assignments I didn't do. A week after me and Michael's movie date, Tate showed up. We decided to read a book to each other. He read one page, I read the next, and so forth. At the end of his page, I began reading and I felt his eyes on me. He didn't look down to read the book. I actually don't think he was paying attention to the pages I was reading, until I looked up and asked him what I read. He started off with, "Um..." and couldn't finish the sentence.<p>

_ Knock knock. _It came from my window. I looked over my shoulder and then back at Tate, and saw his face distort in an angry form. "It's him," Tate murmured. He looked at me. "Hazel, don't open that window." I got up and walked towards the window. Tate wrapped his cold fingers around my wrist. "Don't do it."

I looked at him, and with the most serious voice, I said, "It's time Michael met his father." Tate let go, and his expression went from angry, to terrified. He walked backwards, and shook his head.

"I . . " he started. "I can't. I can't meet him. Bye." With that, he vanished, and a piece of me grew with anger. I walked over to the window and lifted up the blinds. There he was: Michael Langdon. As beautiful and mysterious as ever. I hadn't noticed it was raining outside. And he was soaked. I opened the window and he somewhat-gracefully stepped inside.

"How'd you know where my room was?" I asked in a whisper. "And how did you climb up here?" I went over to my bedroom door and locked it, even though I knew that my mom was working late in her office because some middle-aged woman wanted to buy a painting specifically of herself - which meant that Mom would have to paint it at that very moment - and Dad was also working late and wouldn't come back until later that night. But, still, I had to be safe.

"Honestly, it was a lucky guess. And, simple, you have a ladder back there." He was about to sit on my bed, but I stopped him, unzipping his jacket and taking it off of him.

"You should take these off, they're kinda soaked."

"Well, all of my clothes are soaked, so do you want me to walk around naked?" He smirked and I shook my head. "I'm just kidding." I lifted a finger and said, "Wait," then exited my room, went into my parents' bedroom to fetch a pair of sleeping pants that were still in the box, never used, because they were too small for my dad. I went into my room and saw Michael examining the pictures hung up on my wall. "Wherever this is, it's beautiful. I'd like to go there one day."

"It's Miami, Florida. I go there every other summer to visit my Mom's side of the family. The pictures over here are from Maine, and that's my Dad's part of the family right there. I visit them on the summers that I don't go to Florida." I pointed to the picture of my mom's family, which consisted of tall brunettes and somewhat-short blondes. Michael noticed the genetic pattern.

"You're a brunette but you aren't that tall," Michael added.

"And you can thank my short mother for that one," I said sarcastically and nudged him with the package of sleeping pants. "I got you these because I know your jeans are soaked."

He took the package from me, looked at the size and smiled at me. "Thanks." He undid his pants and pulled them down, I immediately hurried back to my bed, and made sure I didn't see him half-nude. Sure, it was just from his waist down, but I didn't want to his 'package' yet. I heard him laugh silently. "What? You've never seen a guy half-naked before?" He turned around and put on one of the sleeping pants. It was a black one, and I've worn one before - because they're super comfortable, so I know that Michael would be comfy in them.

"Not really," I said. "Believe it or not, I'm a virgin."

His eyes widened with surprise. "Well, believe it or not, I am, too."

"No way. You're too hot."

"Same to you," he added, and smiled at me. "Were you busy? You know, before I knocked on your window. I feel rude for barging in."

"I was just talking to a friend," I answered. _More like: your father. _

"Still, it's kind of late. But I can't stay away." He sat so close to me, that I could smell him. He smelled like rain and cologne. "I tried to, because I've never felt this way about anyone before. Personally, I like to be alone. I don't like people, that's why I don't have friends. But, with you, it's different. I feel like you're all I need, you're all I want. You can call me dramatic, but it's true. When we were cuddling, I didn't want to take my arms off you. Your scent - - it's like my own personal brand of heroin."

I thought about what Tate told me, that Michael is the son of the Devil, and I know that Michael can read minds. Maybe he can do more. Maybe his scents are altered. Maybe him being half-spirit would give him extra abilities, maybe. "That's . . " I started, but I couldn't finish my sentence.

"Weird? Yeah, I know. I'm a little weird."

"So, you stayed away from me because you're attracted to me?"

"I'm afraid of hurting you. I'm not a good guy, Hazel. I've done bad things before, and this is not me. I'm not kind, and gentle, and that's why I'm afraid. I'm afraid that one day I'll snap and I'll hurt you. You're changing me and I don't know how to feel about that. Change is scary."

"What do you mean?" I asked him. "How would you hurt me?"

"Um . . . sometimes I lose control. I do things I don't want to do. I'm not a good guy. I'm not Prince Charming, I'm not perfect. I usually control myself, but when I don't, I screw up big-time. And I don't want to screw up my chances with you. That's why I'm not going to try, because I don't want to screw up. And I don't want to hurt you."

"Wait . . . you get me to like you, and then you drop me?"

"No it's just that I d-"

"Okay."

"What?"

"Okay. I get it. You can go now." I hated that feeling, of being dropped. He dropped me softly, though. Still, it hurt. But at the same time, I'm glad he let me down the way he did.

"You're mad at me."

"No, I'm not." I answered too fast for that to be believable. "I get what you're saying. You can leave. Don't worry, you won't see me again."

Michael got up from my bed and looked down at me. "I can't leave now. I feel bad. I'm sorry, Hazel."

"Don't be. I'm sorry I wasted your time." I walked to the window and gestured it to him. "Here's your exit." Michael walked towards me - or the window - and lifted it open. He swung one leg over and sat there, looking at his hands and stayed like that, oh-so hesitant. He swung his leg back inside the room and stood up, facing me. I had to look at him because he was so tall. His finger tips grazed my hands, feeling like feathers on my skin. Michael grabbed my hands and I started to pull my hands away from him, but he stopped me from doing so by tightening his grip a bit. "I thought you didn't want me. I thought you wanted to stay away from me," I commented, feeling my pulse in my neck. He leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. I wanted to pull away from him, I really did. But at the same time, I didn't. His lips were so soft and warm. I felt his warmth spreading from my lips to my stomach and I couldn't get enough. Michael's hands roamed from my hands, up to my stomach, shoulders, neck, until he got to my face, his destination. He cupped my face and our kiss became deeper, and I heard his soft, quiet moans. He slowly stopped, pulling away with regret, and rested his forehead on mine before he said, "I'll always want you."

* * *

><p><strong>Q: Should Hazel stay with Michael? Or should she leave him? Does Tate deserve Hazel? Should Hazel give Tate or Michael a chance? Which one do you think Hazel should be with?<strong>

**P.S. Your answers influence the decisions of those characters!**


	7. Hi, Mom

It was Wednesday, and Wanda Mary Turner won the lottery. Michael was right. I had no choice but to believe him now.

I couldn't sleep for a few nights, which messed with my online school. Michael and I finally exchanged e-mails (because he doesn't have a cell phone) so we kept in touch through that. The longest we'd gone without e-mailing each other was seven hours, and that was because we were sleeping. We got closer, learning more things about each other. For example, Michael told me that his father left a long time ago after he found out that his mother was pregnant with him, and he died before Michael was even born because of cancer - which is complete crap because I know the exact truth. Constance won't tell him the truth, and I feel like that's going to be her biggest downfall. I told Michael where I was born and raised - born in Maine and raised in New Hampshire, and he knows that my mother was pregnant last year but had a miscarriage after she fell down a flight of stairs. He knows about my anti-social life, how I don't have real-life friends, that I have online-friends that I talk to on a daily basis. Michael doesn't know anything about his father, because Constance refuses to tell him. He knows about his siblings, though. All except for Tate. And that they're dead - obviously. Michael is an only child, and has never had an actual friend or someone other than his mother to trust.

Tate appeared on my bed, as I walked into my bedroom holding my phone with my ear buds shoved in my ears. He looked mad, upset, and something else that I couldn't quite put my finger on. "Hey," I said, taking out my ear buds. "What's up?" I sat on the corner of my bed, facing him with one leg tucked under me and the other one hanging off the edge.

"How are you feeling?" he asked me, sounding more like a statement than a question.

"I'm doing okay."

"No, I mean about Michael."

I nervously played with my thumbs. "He hasn't hurt me. He's a gentleman."

"I understand why you chose him over me. I'm dead, he's alive. You can go places with him, and we can't, because I'm stuck here. I'm a ghost. I may not be alive, but I can love just as well as any human. I really do care about you, Haze, and if we can't be something more, then I'm fine being just friends with you." That last sentence came out in a struggle, and I could tell that Tate wanted to be more. But I had feelings for Michael. Tate was right, though. I can have a life with Michael, because he's alive. If I ever wanted to be with Tate, I would have to kill myself in order to be with him forever, and I don't want to do that.

"Just know, that I'm always here. Literally. When Michael isn't here, I'll always be. I wouldn't want you to end up alone. Like . . . me."

"Thanks," I said. "And I'm sorry for -" before I could finish my sentence, Tate leaned over and hugged me. I wasn't sure if it was a friendly hug but it was a strong, yet comfortable hug. He didn't squeeze too hard. He smelled like shampoo and fall leaves. After that, he said he had to go, his brother in the attic wanted him. He left, and I went down stairs to get something to eat, and I saw Michael walking across my yard. I opened the backdoor, but he refused to come in.

"I shouldn't have come," he said. "I'm sorry, but I sense other people in that house."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "My parents aren't home."

"Exactly. Other _beings _are in that house."_  
><em>

"I know."

"You aren't afraid?"

"They're friendly." _As long as you don't get them mad. _"You can come in. Don't worry, as long as you're with me, nothing bad will happen." Michael hesitantly looked at me and nodded slowly. He stepped foot in the house, and I immediately felt an uneasy vibe from within the kitchen. He walked inside the kitchen, and Vivien appeared by the fridge. Michael saw her. Vivien saw him. Neither of them said a word.

"Who's she?" Michael asked. "Like, your aunt, or something?"

Vivien's lower lip quivered and she walked closer to him. Michael stood stiff, knowing that Vivien wasn't human. He sensed it. "She's friendly," I said to Michael. "It's okay." Vivien stopped just inches in front of Michael, and touched his face. She whispered something that neither me or Michael could make out. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"I've been waiting to meet you for the longest time," Vivien said in the softest voice she could manage. "You've gotten so big." Michael looked at her from her head to her toes, then looked back into her eyes.

"You're a ghost," he said. He turned to me and added, "She's the one I sense in your room when I came over that one night. There were two others."

"Two?" I asked. The only one I sensed was Tate, but then again, Michael has all types of senses I can't even begin to fathom.

"Yeah, but . . this one . . . her," Michael turned to her, locking eyes but still talking to me. "She wanted to speak with me."

"I need to tell you something," Vivien said to him. "Don't freak out when I say it, okay?"

"M'am, I'm standing in front of a ghost, a.k.a. you. I don't think I'll be 'freaked' by anything you have to say," Michael added to what she said.

I looked at Vivien. "Do you think it's the right time?"

"I don't know when he'll let me see him again. So, yes, I think it's the best time right now. Besides, he should know the truth. He's been lied to for way too long," Vivien answered.

"What?" Michael asked. "What do you mean, I let you see me?"

"Yes. You see, I've been trying to contact you ever since you stepped foot in this house. But you never let me in. You focused on Hazel, and that's understandable. But your guard was down and you _wanted _to see me. You might not believe it, but your subconscious probably did it."

"What do you need to tell me?" Michael asked again. I took a step back, gently sliding my hand in the space between his arm and his rib cage, and held onto his arm softly, as if bracing the both of us for impact.

"Michael, I'm your mother." No one said anything for a while. The silence was painfully awkward and intense.

"You can't be," he said in a low voice. "My mother's old and lives in that house next door."

"Think about it, Michael," Vivien urged. "Your so called 'mother' is too old to be your biological mother. You say it could be a miracle, but _think _about it. Name _one thing _that you and her have in common biologically. Your eyes? No. Hers are brown, yours are blue, like mine. Your hair? Sure, it's blonde, but look at the difference between the blondes. You're closer to my blonde than her's. Your face, it's shaped just like mine. And what'd she say about your father? Not the bullshit story, I mean about your _real _father." She looked at me after she finished the sentence, looking at me in a questioning way. I already knew what she was trying to ask me. If I told her about Tate. I hadn't. And it's not my place to tell him all by myself. It's his family, they should introduce themselves as such.

"STOP!" Michael exclaimed, taking a step back, and stepping on my foot on accident. He looked at me apologetically, not saying a word, but apologizing with his eyes. "You're lying."

"Am I?" she asked him. "Just ask Constance: your adoptive mother."

"Michael," I said gently, reaching out to him. "Mike, please just try to c-"

"Don't touch me," he spat. The words stung worse than he ever intended to.

"You're acting like this because you know it's the truth, honey," Vivien said to him. "You know something was fishy ever since you had the capability of thinking about Constance as your mother. You know she isn't me. You know she isn't your biological mother."

"W-why are you . . . dead?" he asked, catching his breath. I think he forgot to breathe.

The side of Vivien's lips curled up into a soft smile. "I died giving birth to you and your brother." Michael stepped back, and I thought he was going to faint, so I hurried to his side and put a hand on his back, steadying him. "Your brother died, too. Right after he was born. He's here, though, as a ghost. Forever a stillborn. You can see him if you like, obviously another time because you can't even keep your balance as I'm telling you these things." She chuckled a little bit. "Your father's here, too. But I'm not going to tell you anything else, because he needs to tell you, and you need to meet him yourself. It's been way too long. Everyone's been waiting on you, Michael."_  
><em>

Michael's face turned a shade of red, and his eyes watered, but he was fighting the mixed emotions that were brewing inside of him. I watched as he sucked in his stomach just a tad to stop breathing, and to concentrate on holding back the tears. "I knew she was lying," he said, his voice shaking and cracking as he spoke. "But I didn't know it was this big of a lie. I always thought it was me." He walked closer to Vivien and touched her arm. "You're so cold."

"And you're warm," she said. "Is it okay if I hug you?" Michael took his hand off her, and stepped back a little. I thought that meant 'no', but he nodded and slowly came closer to Vivien as she opened up her arms and embraced him. After a while, she smiled and said, "I finally got to hug my son." Michael was emotional, I knew that much, but he did a great job of hiding it. He might've fooled Vivien, but he hadn't fooled me.

He pulled away slowly, and shook his head. "I need to go." He was shaking. Vivien looked at him, and then at me. "Could you lead him outside, Hazel? He looks like he needs to breathe." As I slid my hands over one of Michael's arm, Vivien leaned over and kissed the top of his head, smiled, and walked past the fridge, and disappeared. I lead Michael outside, and as soon as we got passed the gazebo, he fell to his knees and gasped for air.

"I c-" he started, but couldn't finish it. "M-my family . . . they're all . . . dead." It was too much for him, because he buried his face in his hands and bawled. Not just a regular sob, but one of those intense, shoulder-shaking, gagging-on-your-own-tears sobs. I got on my knees and pried his hands off of his face. He was already as red as a tomato, and tears ran down his face. Without thinking, I pulled him into me and hugged him, and he clung onto my body like glue and wouldn't let go. He sobbed and sobbed for what seemed like an eternity. Then, when he had no more tears to cry, he lifted his head and shook it, as if saying, _ no. _ "I'm sorry," Michael said.

"You shouldn't be," I said. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, but you had to know the truth."

"What do you mean? You knew all along?"

"Yeah, I did. But I didn't want to tell you because it wasn't right for me to. Your entire family is in that house. Your sister, your brothers, your mother, your half-sister and b-"

"Wait," he interrupted. "Half sister? Damn," he chuckled. "Are most of my family members dead?"

I shrugged. "Just your immediate family."

"So . . my mom, I mean - - _Constance _- - she's not related to me? She's just a person who adopted me?"

"Don't call her by her first name because, at the end of the day, she's the one that raised you, and that's technically a mother. She's your adoptive mother, yeah, and she's also very closely related to you by blood. She's your grandmother."

"My _grandmother? _That explains why she's so old." We both chuckled. He looked at me and said. "Do you wanna spend the night?"

"W-what? That escalated quickly." I said with a sarcastic tone.

"I need someone to be with me tonight. You can just sneak out around midnight and I can set an alarm and you can come back before your parents go to work. I don't think I'll be able to sleep - even though I don't sleep, in general. But after what just happened today, I'll need as much sleep as I can get. Could you help me? I need you." Michael buried his face in my neck as he hugged me tighter. "You have no idea how much I need you."

* * *

><p><strong>Q: What do you think will happen next? How will he react when he meets Tate - his father &amp; half-brother? REVIEW to let me know :)<strong>

**Sorry it took so long for me to update! I have school and I've been cramming knowledge in my head like crazy! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	8. Candles

**Enjoy! #KindaFluff**

* * *

><p>Midnight struck, and I went downstairs to sneak out of the backdoor in the kitchen. But, first, I checked if my parents were sleeping: they were knocked the heck out because they were so exhausted. I went out of the back door and shut it, keeping it unlocked. The cold air grazed my neck, giving me goosebumps. I was wearing a gray hoodie and thick leggings, followed by boots that resembled slippers in the material category. I was halfway across my lawn when I saw a silhouette coming at me. As the moon light shone on him, I realized it was my Prince Charming. Michael. As soon as we were close enough, he grabbed my face and gave me with the most intense, passionate kiss I've ever had. Everything about him made me melt.<p>

"I'm glad you made it," he said in a soft voice, almost a whisper. As if my parents could hear him talk from here.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world." He smiled at me and kissed my forehead. "Where's Constance?"

"She's at her boyfriend's house and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. I told her I'd be fine. Knowing her, she'll stay there until, like, seven tomorrow night." We began walking to his house, and he took my hand in his, tangling our fingers together.

"Wait, she doesn't care that you're home alone for the whole day?"

"No. Why should she? She knows I can take care of myself. And, besides, she's old enough to do whatever she wants. In a way, I am, too." We entered his humble abode, and immediately went into his room. Something was different in his room. The sketches that I saw when I first came in his house were now gone, maybe put away. His desk was now clean, with a composition book in the middle of it, and a ceramic mug filled with pens and pencils resided on the side of his desk. Candles were put at random around the room. They were lit before I got here. I knew that due to the dried drips of wax on the sides of the candles. There were dozens of them in his room.

"What's with the candles?" I asked. "Did you have a romantic evening all to yourself?" I smirked at him and he laughed at my sarcastic remark.

"Candles relax me. If you put the right music on, it'll the be the most relaxing experience of your life."

"I've always liked candles. My parents bought me a ton for my sixteenth birthday. I only have, like, eight because I don't want to ruin them. They're a keepsake of my sweet sixteen."

"Wish I could've been there. I bet you looked beautiful." I couldn't talk anymore. Just looking at Michael made my stomach churn and flutter. I wanted to kiss him so bad. I just simply wanted him. "Today makes a month of us being together, you know."

"It's been that long? It feels like a few short weeks." I walked up to him, and realized what he was wearing: a navy-blue hoodie over a black t-shirt, and sweatpants. Even in his sleep attire, he looked great. "Well, happy one-month." I got on my tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips. I meant to pull away, but something made me keep going. Maybe it was Michael, maybe it was lust. I don't know. But all I know is that I liked it. Michael's kisses became even more and more intense as time consumed our make-out session. His hands roamed my body, and for once, I didn't flinch. I didn't question why they were on me, or if I liked it or not. Because, yes, I liked it. I loved his touch, I loved his kisses. At that moment, I realized I was falling hard for him.

Michael moaned quietly, almost inaudible. I walked backwards, trying to find his bed, but still locked onto his lips. My leg his the bottom of the bed, which was a good sign. Michael slid his hands into my hoodie and pulled it over my head, revealing my tank top. "I can stop now," he said, pulling away from our kiss. "I'm not going to make you do this if you don't want to."

"I want to. Trust me, I want to." I kissed him again, picking back up from where we left off. He took off his sweatshirt, revealing his bare chest. I was practically losing my mind over him. His lips went from mine, to my cheek, and onto my neck, covering it with kisses. My hands grazed his bare, warm chest. Without thinking, I grabbed him and pulled him closer to me, closing the tiny space between us. He moaned a little.

"I've been hungry for you for so long," he moaned into my neck as he kissed it more. I sat down on his bed, bringing his body with me as I dragged myself to his pillows. I took off my tank top, revealing my bra-covered c-cup breasts. He got me to lie down, and with that, he left kisses on my neck, down my chest - which he took the time to unhook my bra and toss it across the room - all the way down to my lower abdomen. He took off his sweatpants and boxers, and my stomach did a flip. _This is gonna hurt, _I told myself in my head. Michael gripped onto my leggings, but didn't pull them off. "We can stop now. It's not too late to stop, Hazel."

I shook my head, sitting up and kissing him. "Don't stop," I murmured. "I want you." As our kiss became more intense, I felt him pull off my leggings, and my panties with it. I was now completely naked, and cold. All of a sudden, it got warm in his room. I opened my eyes and saw that all the candles in Michael's room were lit. "How'd you -" I started, but Michael kissed me, saying, "I can do a lot of things you don't know. Maybe one day I can show you everything I can do."

Michael guided us under his comforter and he got on top of me, stroking my cheek lovingly. "Ready?"

I swallowed the nervous lump in the back of my throat and relaxed my body under his warm one. "I'm ready."

* * *

><p>Tate paced back and forth in Hazel's room, his nervous like TNT - ready to explode. He felt as if a knife had been embedded into his heart, over and over again. Hayden sat on Hazel's bed, painting her nails with one of Hazel's nail polishes. She noticed how uneasy and frustrated Tate was. "What's up with you, tiger?"<p>

"I know what Hazel's doing," he said, biting his fist.

"What's she doing."

"More like _who. _She lost her virginity to Michael."

"Last I heard, Michael was a virgin, too."

"How'd you know?" Tate asked Hayden, who was blowing air onto her freshly painted nails.

"Dude, she lives in a house of nosy ghosts who don't have anything better to do. I heard everything. You know you eavesdrop on her conversations with Michael. You know it kills you inside knowing that you can't have her."

"Hayden . . ."

"I think it's cute, though. Two teens in-love losing their virginity to each other."

"What'd you say?"

"That I think it's cute."

"No not that. About them being in-love."

"It's obvious, Tate. Haven't you noticed? She's crazy for Michael and he's crazy for her. I know how much it hurts. I wanted Ben to choose me over Vivien, but he chose her. I know the pain of being brushed off like a piece of lint. That's what sucks about being a ghost, and being stuck here. I want nothing more than to leave this God forbidden hell house."

"I was falling for her, Hayden. I want her to be with me."

"That's the cruel thing about life. You want what you can't have. You just gotta let her go."

"I can't," Tate said, sitting on the floor of Hazel's bedroom, wanting to cry, but knowing that he couldn't be a baby in front of Hayden. She'd laugh at him. "If I let her go, it'll be like dying again."

* * *

><p>Michael and I laid on our sides, facing each other. He wouldn't stop staring at me, and I wouldn't stop staring at him. "Did it hurt? I heard it hurts for the girl."<p>

"It didn't hurt a lot, but it sure wasn't a pleasant walk in the park at first."

He chuckled and pulled me into him. I was now on my chest, cuddling his torso. He was so incredibly warm. "It was great." He lifted himself up using his elbows and looked at me. "I don't want you thinking I brought you here so we could have sex. It just felt right and I got in the moment and -"

"It's okay," I chuckled, touching the side of his cheek with my warm hand. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey," I said, shaking my head. "Don't be sorry. I'm not sorry for losing my virginity to you, okay? Now stop that and kiss me." With a laugh, he leaned in, and after we pulled away, we snuggled on each other and fell asleep. I heard Michael sit up a little, and I opened my eyes just a slit to see what he was doing. He snapped his fingers, and one by one, the candles in his room were being unlit, as if someone was blowing them out. I sat up, watching as each individual flame burned out, and Michael put an arm around me. There were ten candles left until they all burned out.

"I need to tell you something," Michael said. Seven candles left.

"What is it?" I asked. Four candles left.

"I'm . . . I'm falling in love with you." The last candle burned out, leaving me and Michael in the dark.

* * *

><p><strong>Whoa! Two chapters in one day? CRAZY OR NAH? I felt generous today and since I got a review today, I was like WELL, WHY NOT? I'll update every time one of my chapters gets at least TWO reviews!<strong>

**Q: Are you #_TeamTazel_ (Tate&Hazel) OR #_TeamMazel_(Michael&Hazel) LET ME KNOW BY REVIEWING!**

**Thanks to all of you who read my stories! I appreciate all of your support! Goodnight/Good morning, my lovelies :)**


	9. Scars

Two weeks later, Michael took me to the park late at night - I may or may not have snuck out that night to see him, but any ways, I didn't get caught. He was holding my hand the whole time, and to where he was leading me to, I had no idea. The walkways were lit by old fire-lit posts, and we had walked off the pathways, into the dark.

"Where are we going?" I asked, tightening my grip around his hand.

"It's right around here." He stopped walking, and that was the edge of the park. The ground beside the park was kind of slanted, like six feet down, I think. What ever he was trying to show me, it was covered my brush and leaves. "I just need to move all of these bushes aside, and the entrance will be right here." He leaped onto the ground below us and moved the bushes aside, using the light of his phone to show the way. "Here it is," Michael added. "No one's been in here. C'mon, baby." I couldn't help but smile when he called me that. I took his hand and leaped onto the ground below me. The 'entrance' to where ever he was taking me was a four-feet-high hole in the side of the rock wall.

"You're kidding," I said. Michael got on his knees and started crawling inside the hole. "YOU'RE KIDDING, RIGHT?" He poked his head out of the hole and shook his head, extending his hand to me.

"It's all clear in here. Come with me, please. I want to show you what I can do." I took his hand and crawled with him in the dark rocky hole. I felt pebbles embedding themselves into my palm, in which me and Michael both gave out soft groans of pain. "Damn these pebbles," he murmured. "I should'ved cleaned the place up, huh?" We finally got to a spot where we could stand up. Doing so, I looked around. There were drawings of moons, Latin and/or Greek words written on the ground, ceiling and walls. In the middle of the rock room was a pot that resembled that of a witch. Around that pot, and close to the walls, were hip-high pillars, that held about five or six different candles on each pillar, and there were ten pillars all together. Michael stood in the middle of it all, looking proud of his little room.

"When things get too hectic, I like to come here - to my 'other room'. No one can bother me when I'm here. Literally nobody. I could runaway and live in here and nobody would know where I went," He said, then looked at me with a sneaky look in his eyes. "Don't tell anyone." I chuckled and nodded.

"Don't worry," I remarked. "I won't tell anyone." He put his hand, palm down, over the old rusted pot and some sort of black and white light seeped out from his palm like water being spilled out of a cup. It moved slowly, making sure it didn't spill any where when it landed inside the pot. He made his hand into a fist, stopping the light from coming out of him. Michael started saying something in another language, maybe Latin, and the ground seemed to vibrate. His eyes were shut, and when he opened them again, they were pitch black. Not a space of white was shown. Startled, I stepped back, and his eyes went back to their original color: blue. The candles around us lit up, and their tiny flame was bright red.

"Come to me," Michael said. I stepped forward. "I'm gonna show you everything I can see, hear and sense. Just give me your hand." I extended my hand to him, and as our fingertips touched, my skin felt as if it was being electrocuted. My body felt as if it were a massive vibrator, and my eyes didn't do what eyes did. I no longer used my eyes to see. Instead, I was looking through Michael's eyes. I saw myself, and felt this overwhelming urge to kiss myself, to embrace myself, to just simply engulf myself in love. "This is what I feel for you," he commented. "What you're seeing and feeling is what I feel for you." I smiled a little, feeling my cheeks burn red. He's so cute. "This is what it feels like when I have a vision. . ." as soon as he said that, my conscious left Earth and was now somewhere out there, looking over people's future and past. I saw myself, around my mid-twenties, in a meadow that was full of different types of wild flowers. I had a dog with me, a golden retriever, and it ran beside me. I was wearing a long white dress, not a wedding dress, but one that resembled something a hippie would wear. I was wearing a flower crown made of daisies. My hair was an auburn-red color, and it looked like it was rust-red in the sunlight. In the middle of the meadow, was Michael, wearing a white button-up and knee-high cut off shorts. In his hand, was a single red tulip, which he tucked behind my ear. As I looked down, I saw my swollen stomach - _it wasn't like that before. _My hands were resting on it, but I don't remember moving them there. I sensed it inside of me, and I _heard _it speaking, or should I say thinking, to me. It's little voice was so high-pitched and cheery. I felt my unborn child kick inside of me, and I looked up, seeing Michael's gorgeous blue eyes. His left hand was resting on my stomach, and the other one was cupping my cheek. He was speaking, but I couldn't hear anything.

Michael let go of my hands, and I looked at him, puzzled. "Why'd you let go?" I asked him. "I want to know what happens next. It was so . . ." I couldn't figure out what word to describe it, until I caught the most simplest word that actually described it as well as I wanted it to. ". . beautiful."

"You know too much. You can't know anything else."

"I already saw that I was pregnant with your kid. And we looked so happy together, Michael. We even had a dog!"

"Every time I try to read into your future, I always come back to that vision. No matter how hard I try to see your future, it never works. That vision is the only thing that gives me hope."

"Hope?"

"Well . . . I'm not the _safest _person in the world, let's put it in that way."

"You're confusing me, Mike. I don't understand."

Michael sighed, and said, "Brace yourself. You know I'm the son of the Devil. It's the truth. And, being that my nature is to be evil and to live off of hatred, I have this uncontrollable urge to . . . to _hurt _people. I've done a good job controlling it for three months. But now that I'm with you, it feels like it's weakened, but at the same time it's gotten stronger."

"Are you saying - - that we shouldn't be together?"

He grabbed my hands and shook his head. "No! No! Don't you ever say that. You know I love you, Haze. What I'm trying to say is: I have thoughts. Those thoughts aren't pleasant. For example; I've thought about killing people."

For a moment, it felt like I had swallowed a whole apple. I was holding my breath as I asked him the most anxiety-stricken question, "Have you thought about killing me?"

Michael said nothing, he just looked at me with regret, and I already knew the answer. I took a step back. "Hazel . . " He said as he saw me step back.

"Have you thought about killing me?"

He looked at me, and I raised an eyebrow. Even though I already knew the answer, I wanted him to _say _it. "Yes."

"Why haven't you?"

"Because I love you. There were hundreds of times that I could have killed you, but I didn't. And whenever I think about hurting you, I get angry with myself, and this is what happens - -" he rolled up the long, dark sleeves of his shirt and revealed cuts, scars, and scabs from previous cuts. "I can't hurt you, so I hurt myself instead. And I refuse to hurt anyone else."

"Michael!" I exclaimed and rushed to him, getting closer to the massacre that's known as his arm. "What the hell? Why would you ev-"

"I love you."

I looked at him intently. This boy in front of me, showing me his scars, drives me crazy. "Don't do that. I can help you control yourself better. Just - _don't _cut! You could cut wrong and you could die, Michael." I kissed him over, and over, and over again. In between kisses I said, "You're. Ridiculous. OhMyGawd. I. Love you."

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><p><strong>MORE FLUFF C: The next few chapters will have you on your toes!<strong>


	10. Man Cave Secret

**THREE DAYS LATER**

Tate woke me up, yelling, "MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAZEL! MERRY MOTHERFUCKING CHRISTMAS!" I sat up, half-dazed and half-awake. I grabbed my phone and clicked the home button, on the screen was the date: _December 10. _I looked at Tate is confusion. He had the biggest grin on his face.

"Are you crazy?" I asked. "Or drunk? High, maybe? Christmas isn't until fifteen days from now it's, like -" I checked my phone for the time. "- nine in the morning. Tate, I'm going back to sleep. It's Friday and I would like to sleep in." I laid back down and tried to get comfortable.

He playfully groaned the way a disappointed child would. "You're no _fun!_" Tate grabbed my wrists and pulled me from my bed. He almost dragged me on the floor until I stood up. "C'mon!"

"Tate, what the hell? Where are we going?" I asked, trying to keep my eyes open. Gosh, I was so exhausted. We went up into the attic, and I saw a Christmas tree set up. The lights were dimming, giving me the impression that they were either a) too old or b) just simply didn't work. The ornaments were old, glass ball of different colors, that had a layer of dust protecting it. An old, spider-web-covered golden star topped the tree off like a cherry topping off an ice cream sundae.

"It's not much," he said to me, nudging me with his elbow. "But it's all I could find in the basement and up here. It isn't like I want it all big and bright, but I like to get the ghosts in the Christmas spirit, ya know? Most of them are so lost in their despair, or anger, that they forget to enjoy the simple things in life. Like, how someone could put all this together and make it this beautiful. Or, if you look out the window, you'll see snow. Of course it isn't snowing here, it's California, for Pete's sake. But it was just an example. You know what I mean, though." He walked towards the tree, standing beside it and facing me. "When there's a family in this house, that isn't dead, I like to try and invite at least one to see this tree. I always decorate for the holidays. May not be a big decoration, but it's the thought that counts. I like to show people that we aren't all monsters. That we can feel, too."

"You aren't a monster," I added to all of that.

Tate smirked. "I wish I could believe that, Hazel. But, the truth is, all humans are monsters."

* * *

><p><strong>That Afternoon <strong>

I was in the basement, trying to find something interesting to hang on the tree: if Tate could find all of those things down here, then I'm sure I could find something down here, too. I looked through boxes that were stored in the very back. The lights back there wouldn't turn on, and it kind of frightened me. I knew I wasn't alone, but I didn't want to find out what else was down there with me. So, I called out, "TATE!" In a split second, he walked through a wall, saying, "Are you okay? What happened?" I nodded.

"I'm okay," I said. "I just . . uh . . got scared." I turned so red at how embarrassed I was and how stupid that sounded. "I kind of don't like that dark. Especially when I know there're ghosts down here."

"Where'd you wanna go down here? Just tell me and I'll lead you. Don't worry. Nothing will hurt you down here as long as you're with me."

I smiled at him, thankful for his presence. "Do you know any interesting places down here?"

He thought for a moment, and then, a big grin appeared on his face. "I know a place." He led me to the very back of the basement, where an old painting was hung. (A replica of a painting of Picasso) Tate removed the painting and there, behind the painting, was a 'door' that was two feet wide and three feet high, even though it was four feet off the ground. He opened the door, and climbed in. I climbed in after him. There was another door - regular sized - and he went through that. "A basement inside of a basement," he said to me over his shoulder. He held onto my hand as we walked. It was dark, and the only light illuminating our way was the flashlight of my phone. It was thick and warm in that secret basement, and then, we stopped walking. The room we were in was half the size of the actual basement, probably a bit bigger than my bedroom.

"What is this place?" I asked, shining the flashlight of my phone onto the walls of the room. "Is this, like, your Man Cave?"

"Ever since I died, I haven't really had a place to call my own, so I stole this bed from the last people who moved into the house, and put it here. I've taken a few things from other families. Like that record player, and those records. I have a few mirrors here, and a chest to put my belongings in. Nothing big. Nothing special. Just some things I could call my own."

"Do you actually sleep in it?"

"Sometimes. If I really need to. I'm a ghost, I don't need to sleep. I can, though." I shone the light onto the walls again, taking a better look. There were drawings of people on here. Hands, legs, eyes, very-detailed-drawings of nude women (and I thought I saw one that resembled Violet, but I could be wrong). "You like?" he asked.

"You draw - - so good," I said, breathlessly. These were almost better than Michael's. _Almost. _"Drawing runs in your family. Michael draws, too. He's really good." I turned to him. "I never knew you could draw."

"There's a handful of things you don't know about me yet. I just hate that you found out all the bad stuff first, and all at once, too. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I needed to know those, believe it or not. Sooner or later. If you told me later on, things would probably go downhill, but I got past that, and everything's fine."

He put his hand on my lower back, saying, "I'm glad you could look past that. I really am."

I felt odd, being held by Tate. I was dating Michael, though. And this wasn't okay. I softly pulled his hand off me. "We'll always be great friends, Tate." _Friends. _

Tate's whole face frowned, and I felt the overwhelming emotions that were unintentionally seeping out of him like water overflowing from a cup. "Sorry. I keep forgetting."

"I'm your son's girlfriend," I said. _Wow, _I thought to myself. _That sounded so much weirder than how I thought it in my head. _"I can't do that to him."

"I wasn't intending on pulling a move on you. I just - - like touching your skin. You're so soft." He touched my arms, barely grazing them with the pads of his fingers. "You're the first person I've touched in years. And I can't get enough of it. I kinda miss being human. I miss having a life, being able to leave the house and go places. Hell, I'd like to see how the outside world has changed in the last ten or fifteen years I've been stuck in this hell hole."

"I'm sorry." I walked behind him, trying to get a better view at everything.

_Come to me. _

I looked around, startled. "Did you hear that?" I asked.

"Hear what?" Tate answered back in a question.

_Come. _

"I heard it again!" I walked closer to the voice. _Set them free. Let them go. Set them free. Come to me. _The voice was coming from in his mattress. I pulled the comforter off the bed, and saw nothing. "I heard it. It was right here!" _Let them go. Set them free. _"What the hell?" I crawled on the bed on my hands and knees, and started feeling the mattress around for something. And, for sure, I found it. Something hard in the middle of the mattress. _Under _the mattress. Like, in it! I took off the originally-white-but-now-stained sheets and saw a hole in the mattress. It was covered by pillow stuffing that someone had put there.

"So, _that's _why I couldn't sleep at night!" Tate exclaimed. "I thought it was my shitty back."

I took the stuffing out of the hole and saw a black box, no bigger than a shoe box. _SET THEM FREE. LET THEM GO. SET THEM FREE. COME TO ME. _The voice was louder than ever, and I knew this was it. It got louder, and louder, until I could feel my pulse pounding brutally in my temples. I let out a scream I didn't know I had in me. It hurt so bad - the voices. They penetrated my mind like a knife embedding itself into flesh. Slowly, and painfully. Tate shook me and asked if I was okay, but I couldn't respond. I was in so much pain!

Until, it all stopped. All I heard was a _ring _sound in both ears. Tate asked me if I was okay. I nodded and looked at the box. I heard no more voices. Slowly, I picked up the box, and together, me and Tate walked back up to my room - because I was more than freaked out by the basement and I was done looking for Christmas ornaments down there. I sat on my bed, and got a good look at the box. It was black, with spider-webs and dust covering the air-weathered painted wood underneath. The paint had chipped away. I could see the wood. It had carved words in a different language surrounding the box.

"What is it?" Tate asked me.

"I'm trying to figure it out. You have any idea what it could be?"

"A jewelry box, maybe. I don't know. I've never seen it before."

"Then, why was it in your mattress?"

"The mattress belonged to a fortune teller. She had weird shit stored in every nook and cranny in this house. I guess that's why I've been hearing voices when I sleep."

After a while of talking, Tate had gone, since I told him I'd like to be alone. He left. Then, I e-mailed Michael, and went on Google to waste time to wait for him to respond. I Googled: _black ghost box. _Nothing showed up. I got an e-mail back from Michael:

_Bad news. Mom is taking a trip to visit her family. I have to come with her. I won't be here for Christmas. :( I'll miss you a lot, though, babe._

_I love you,_

_M.L._

I didn't respond back. I was already too frustrated to even type anything. Michael and I had planned out a whole Christmas date, starting from early in the morning and ending at midnight, so we could make sure to spend literally the whole day together on Christmas. But, that wouldn't be happening this year. We've been planning this for weeks...

I went back on my laptop to get my mind off Michael, and went to Google again. I spent a handful of hours trying to find out anything and everything about this damned box, but nothing came up. I kept searching, determined to find something. Turns out, Michael had e-mailed me, but I didn't read nor did I respond to it yet. I kept searching for answers about this weird box that gave me a migraine from Hell. Finally, something came up for the _black ghost box: _The Box of Souls.

* * *

><p><strong>I apologize if this chapter isn't that great. I'm writing this as I'm half-asleep. I just thought of more things to write about, and I thought: hey, why not just write the next chapter to <em>Bloodline <em>while I'm at it? So, if there are any mistakes and mess-ups, I truly apologize for my illiterate self.**

**Review ~ so you can critique my work**

**Message ~ if you have any questions in behalf of this story :**

**Pleasant reading! *arkticangel**


	11. Frenemy

**December 19th **

Michael left for Washington today with Constance. I don't think I've ever felt so alone in my life. As for my parents, they couldn't be happier than ever, in their new house, with a big, lively Christmas tree set up. It was perfect for them. For me, I was still sort of empty, now that I don't have Michael. I'm glad I have my family, though, don't get me wrong. Also, they know about the ghosts, and they're surprisingly okay with it. "They haven't bothered us, so why fret?" they said. That night, I'd bought some cigarettes and opened up my window to smoke. The nicotine stung my throat but felt warm in my lungs. I felt a hand on the middle of my back: Tate. I looked over my shoulder and saw him, wearing a gray sweatshirt and his regular jeans.

"It's kinda chilly, you don't wanna close the window?" he asked me. I gestured towards me burning cigarette. "Oh, right. Smoking." I offered him, and he took it, inhaling so deep, that I thought he was going to inhale that entire cigarette in just one drag. "God, I miss that." He handed it back to me and I took a short drag, blowing the smoke out of the window. "You're upset."

"Yep," I bluntly said with no emotion attached to it. "It's whatever. I'll get over it."

"That's what I said. But then I killed some people at my school. That whole '_whatever I'll get over it' _gimmick is just for show. Whenever you say that, it's like a silent cry for help, and only those who want to hear can listen."

"What are you getting with this?" I asked, flicking the butt of my cigarette out and shutting my window. I hid the pack of cigarettes in my underwear drawer, so my parents wouldn't find it.

"What I'm saying is: I know how you feel. And I'm here for you. Always and forever, Hazel. I know you wanna talk about it, and I'm right here."

I looked at him. I mean, _really _looked at him. Even though Michael was far away, that didn't mean a thing. The only thing it possibly meant is that we couldn't be together for Christmas. Tate was a great guy, but I'm in love with Michael. And I couldn't do anything with Tate. Regardless of my situation with Michael right now. "Thanks," is all I said.

"Hey," Tate added, after I walked away, heading towards the kitchen. I turned around. He hesitated for a while.

"What?" I asked.

"I . . love you."

* * *

><p><strong>December 20th<strong>

Five more days until Christmas. In the outside, I was excited, just faking my excitement for my parents. In the inside, I was partially excited, and partially still upset. I stayed in my room most of the day, trying to draw. But, it never happened to be as amazing as Michael's or Tate's. So, I exchanged my sketch pad for my composition book of poems and wrote what ever I could down. I've diagnosed myself with severe Lonely Teenager-idis. After my pathetic diagnosis, I checked my e-mail.

_Saturday, December 20th, 3:46 a.m._

_My aunt has a computer here so I used it. I don't know if I'll be able to use it again, so I'm taking advantage of it now. You're probably (most likely) upset, and I'm really sorry, baby. I really did want to spend Christmas with you. I'll make sure to make it up to you how ever I can. I wish you and your family a happy and jolly Christmas. Much love,_

_M.L. and Langdon family_

I found one from just a few hours ago:

_Saturday, December 20th, 1:59 p.m. _

_Got the computer back! Hazel, I miss you so much! It physically hurts not being with you. But, enough with the cliche stuff, I love you. I hope you're doing okay. Please write me back. I know you're upset, maybe mad, but I'd like to know how you are. I don't want to assume something and for it to be wrong. I miss you. And I really want to hear from you. Please write back, baby, I love you._

_Always & Forever: Michael_

I almost cried, if it wasn't for the comforting arms of Tate to hold me to make sure I didn't do so. After a while, I realized I'd stopped crying, but I didn't want to move. I was far too comfortable here. Michael wouldn't approve of this, but I was too numb to care right now. Under my bed, was the Box of Souls, and it called to me. I pulled myself away from Tate and grabbed the Box from under my bed. I unlatched the little hook and opened it. The hairs on my neck stood up, and a woman appeared in front of me. She had long brown hair, and her face as pale as snow.

"Hayden," Tate said.

She said nothing. Hayden just stared at the box. "Where'd you find that?"

"A secret place," I answered.

"It's calling to me. I hear it. I want it." She touched the box, and her hand started to disappear. Hayden watched as her arm vanished. "I feel . . so light. Like a feather! This is it. This is really it! This is how these Spirits will leave this damned house!" She grabbed onto my hand with her own and said, "Get every one of these ghosts to touch that box. Do you understand me? Our suffering is over because of you. I can finally leave!" Her legs disappeared, and so did her torso, until she vanished completely.

I looked at Tate. "Don't touch this box."

Tate shook his head. "My home is here. Why would I leave? Especially when I have you." He saw me look down, trying not to meet his eyes, and he put a hand on my knee. "Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." I finally looked up into his dark eyes. "But you know what I'm not sorry for? Loving you. What you're going through is what I went through with Violet. She left me, and it hurt like hell to miss her. It hurt knowing that the only person I ever cared about turned her back on me."

"Michael didn't turn his back on me. He's just visiting family."

"He cancelled on the biggest day of the year with you. You told me yourself, that his mom - -" he choked a little. " - - doesn't care if he's home alone. He could've stayed home and been with you for Christmas. To make you happy."

"He has other family besides his mother to attend to. Christmas is about spending time with your family, and I'm also not Michael's bodyguard. He can do what ever he wants. He knows what's right from wrong."

"Was it wrong for him to leave you here?"

I looked at Tate, wanting to get to the bottom of this pointless conversation. "Where are you getting with this?"

Tate sighed. "Do you _really _think that Michael went to Washington to visit family? My mom - - _his _mom - - has no family members in Washington. They're all on the other side of the United States. Michael is a bomb, and at any second, he can explode. And when he does, it won't end pretty."

"I've helped him control himself."

"He's the son of Satan, Hazel. Do you really think a little bit of training will help him?"

"YES. I have _faith _and _hope _for Michael. I know I can help him!" My voice was raised almost to a yell. "He wouldn't do anything like that without letting me know first. Because he knows I can help him take out that anger without letting him kill people. Michael knows better."

"You haven't read his mind. If only you knew."

"I can't wait until Michael comes back so I can prove you wrong." I pointed towards my bedroom door. "Leave, Tate. I'm in a bad mood and I'd like to be left alone. Or are you going to antagonize me about that, too?"


	12. Merry Christmas

**December 25th **

_Dear Hazel,_

_MERRY CHRISTMAS! I saw my first snowfall today. It's pretty great. Although it feels like the falling snow is biting at your nose, it's beautiful. And really cold! I miss L.A. I miss the not-so-cold-but-still-cold-enough-to-freeze-your-legs-off weather. I miss my house (and by the way, I'm not having that much of a great time here. My cousins making me sleep on the couch and it's not at all comfortable) but most importantly, I miss you. I miss you so much it literally hurts. Can't wait to see you soon, baby. Oh, and please tell your parents I said 'Merry Christmas!' I love you._

_Forever and always,_

_Michael L._

That's the first thing I read that morning. Ah, Christmas. After that morning read, I shoved my laptop aside and headed towards my bedroom door. I heard a ruckus from downstairs. At first, it was as if someone was taking short, quick steps without hesitation. Then, I heard glass break and Mom shrieked. I ran downstairs, calling, "MOM! DAD? ARE YOU OKAY? WHAT HAPPENED? IS EVERYTHING O-" I stopped just shy off the staircase. In front of me, was a red Siberian husky, about a year or so old. Practically still a pup. But, it was huge.

"No. Way," I said, with my jaw dropping at the sight of the dog in front of me.

"_Yes _way," Dad said back. At the same time, Mom and Dad exclaimed, "_MERRY CHRISTMAS!_" and let go of the leash that they were holding onto. The dog ran up to me and knocked me onto the ground. It licked my face all over and wouldn't let me go until I was covered in her saliva. Dad said something and she immediately peeled off of me. "She's been trained by one of the best dog trainers in L.A."

"A _trained _red Siberian husky," I said to him, sitting up and wiping my face with the sleeves of my sweater. I stood up. "She must've cost you a hell of a lot of money." She got on her hind legs and pawed at my thighs with her front ones. I got on my knees and she smothered her face into my own, and my chest, wriggling her way under my arms.

Mom nudged in. "We've been meaning to get a dog for a long time. I remember when you were a kid, you wanted a dog. A _husky, _actually. We finally got you one, honey." The look on Mom's face was a mix between joy and some other emotions I couldn't put my finger on. She looked so happy to see me hugging her - - _my _dog. "Her name's Piper, but the man who trained her said you can rename her. She's one of the smartest dogs at the Boot Camp for Dogs, so she'll remember her new name quickly. Or so he told us."

I looked at the lovable, fluffy, huffing husky in front. What a pretty dog. "How about . . " I started, and looked at Dad. "Dad, remember when we used to watch a ton of Batman movies together? You remember that Poison Ivy girl, don't you? The hot one with huge knockers."

Dad made a _pfft _sound with his lips and said, "How could I forget?" Mom eyeballed him. Hah, if only looks could kill.

"I think I just found our dog's new name," I added. "Her name will be Ivy."

* * *

><p>Midnight was approaching: only ten minutes away, and Christmas will be gone for another three-hundred-sixty-five days. Regardless of Michael's absence on Christmas, I loved the holidays. There's always so much joy and holiday spirit going around. By the end of December, you can still smell the scent of gingerbread cookies clinging onto your nostrils like a bad habit. Most of the time, my house smelled like pumpkin pie - which I consumed a whole pie of in less than ten minutes. I had the last slice of pumpkin pie on a plastic plate, and I ate it in my room while looking outside at the clear, star-lit sky. Ivy laid down on her tummy, stretching her torso and head across my lap. She looked comfy, so I wasn't going to move. I looked at the digital clock that sat by my bed: <em>11:46 p.m. <em>I wasn't tired, nor was I expecting to bed.

The notification _ding _on my laptop for whenever I get e-mail went off, and I pried myself from under Ivy, who whined a little bit after I did so. I checked it. It was from Michael:

_Call this number as soon as you get this. Please. __(487) 555-8293 _

I grabbed my cell phone and waited. What could be the problem that he couldn't just e-mail it to me? That he has to _tell _me through the phone. All types of different scenarios ran through my head, and before I knew it, the phone was at my ear. It rung once, and he picked up.

"Hello?" he said. His voice. So deep, soft and sexy. It drove me bonkers.

"It's Hazel."

"H-hey. Can you c-come outside?"

"Outside? What!" I almost did a back flip. "You're here? I thought you weren't going to be here for, like, another week?"

"I'm right outside your kitchen, baby. Let me see you. Please." He sounded so afraid, and needy. As in _needy, _I mean, like how a child needs his mother to comfort him after he lost his favorite toy. He sounded like that.

"I'll be down in a jiff." I commanded Ivy to stay (she did so) and I took off to the kitchen. My parents were in their bedroom, '_watching Christmas movies_' they said. Last time I checked, Christmas movies don't sound _like that. _I got the back door in the kitchen and grabbed the knob, mentally noticing how sweaty and clammy my hands had gotten in the last few minutes. I was shaking - whether it was the cold, or from me being excited, I'll never know. I opened the door and stepped out, seeing Michael's silhouette leaned back against the wall.

"M-Michael," I said, not believing my eyes. He locked eyes with me and - like the sky on a fourth of July night - he lit up. We walked towards each other until we were _very _close, and we embraced each other with the most comforting, warm hug we've ever received. I didn't want to let go, and I knew that he didn't want to, either. "I missed you so much," I whispered, trying not to kill the mood with my voice.

"I missed you, too," he said. "I need you so much more than you'll ever imagine."

I pulled away from him just a smidge, so I could kiss him. And, I did. His lips: so soft and warm. I missed those. One after the other, our kisses became more passionate than the last. My hand tangled itself in his hair, and he gave a little moan, and pulled away.

"Wait," he said. "I'm having a bit, um, _a lot _of trouble controlling myself lately."

I let go of him, and he shook his head, grabbing onto my hands as soon as I had let go of his. "I didn't tell you to not hold me. I like your touch. It's the only thing that reminds me I'm still human." He took my hand and kissed my finger tips, making his way onto my knuckles, the back of my hand, my wrist, and up my arm. Until he got to my neck, and he just . . stopped. Midway. His lips barely touched my neck, and I felt his breath on my skin, warming it up as he exhaled.

"I can't," he said. "I'll come by tomorrow morning, okay? Sorry, Haze. I'm just -"

I leaned upwards on my tiptoes and kissed him, shutting him up. I slowly pulled away, feeling his body move closer to mine as I moved. He silently moaned again and took a step back. "Don't be sorry. I get it. I get that you're on-edge, and that's fine. If you want me to help, I can sneak you in my room and you can spend the night there. My parents won't find out."

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Not tonight, baby. Maybe tomorrow. I really don't trust myself being alone with you. _Especially _you. I wouldn't want to do something that would hurt you."

"Are you . . _seeing things _again?" I asked him. By that, I was talking about his visions of mass murder, the ones that we've been trying to suppress and efface for the past month. "I can help, you know. Meditations, guided visuals . . I can help."

"I've _tried _that!" his voice was raised a bit, and it startled me. "Nothing's working, Hazel! Don't you get it? I feel like ripping people apart, and I _hate _it. I hate myself for thinking and feeling this way. Right now, I want to tear you apart, but the stronger side of me is saying no. My restraint is great when it comes to you, but it can only go for so long."

I looked at Michael. "You won't hurt me," I said, stroking his cheek with my hand. "Even if you _really _wanted to. You wouldn't let yourself slip like that."

Michael closed his eyes as soon as my skin touched his. "I'm sorry." I thought that he would start purring any second now. "I love you." He opened his eyes, which were now a beautiful shade of yellow. Before I could open my mouth, he said, "I know you love me back. I can feel it." He laid a hand on top of mine, which was still on his cheek, and he left it there, enjoying the feel of my hand. Michael needed me, I knew that. And I needed him, but not because Satan was flooding my mind with murderous thoughts. I needed him because I love him, and it felt wrong being away from him.

He pulled away slowly, turning on his heel and grabbing something from behind a bush. It was rectangular and long: a wrapped gift. It looked like it came in one of those boxes clothes come in. Michael handed it to me. "I should go, before I lose my cool out here. Open this when you're in your room, okay? Wouldn't want you fainting. Merry Christmas. I love you." I said it back, and he turned on his heel again, walking through the large bushes that divided my house from his. I entered my home and ran as fast - and as quietly - as I could to my room. As soon as I was on my bed - with Ivy nestling her head on my lap - I ripped the gift wrapping paper apart and opened the box. What was inside: drawings. I went through them and couldn't help but gawk at them. The first drawing was the first one I ever saw of me, and the second one was the one that caught my eye the most. It was a drawing of Michael and I, hugging each other as we sit on top of his bed. It was so beautifully drawn, I couldn't believe my eyes. The third drawing was a close-up of me. Sleeping on my side. I could see in great detail that I was naked, but my breasts were covered by the upper part of one of my arms, because one of my hands was tucked under my cheek as I slept. My long hair fell in chunks over my neck and parts of my shoulder, disappearing behind my back. The other hand was balled up close to my nose, and, in the drawing, I could see myself smiling a little.

I remember that day. It was when I slept over Michael's house. The night we lost our virginity to each other. He must've drawn that while I was sleeping. I couldn't help but smile at the drawings, at how wonderful they are. At how wonderful _Michael _is. There's no doubt in my mind that I truly do love him, and there's no doubt that this was the best Christmas gift anyone could ask for.

At the bottom of the shallow box, was a card. I opened it. It read:

_I hope you liked the drawings, darling. I love you so much! Merry Christmas!_

_~Michael Langdon _

I wanted Michael to be here, so I could kiss him and hug him and thank him for the beautiful drawings. Ivy lifted her head, ears raised and tail stiff straight. I knew who she was sensing: Tate. And from what I felt in the air, he wasn't very happy.

* * *

><p><strong>Merry (late) Christmas! I'm so sorry for not updating sooner! My family flew in from literally everywhere and I couldn't get on to write - not even for a minute. Too busy throwing family get-togethers and cleaning up the house like a trillion times. So gladsad Christmas is over, though! Gingerbread season is over :( I'm gonna miss Christmas.**

**Anyways, how was your Christmas? What'd you get? Consider this chapter as my Christmas gift to all you beautiful people! :) **


	13. Dead & Gone

"Hey, Tate," I said in false joy. "Merry Chr-"

"Stop." He stood in front of my bed, and he looked furious. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

I put the drawings back in the box and slid it under my bed. Ivy starter whimpering and buried herself in my chest. I petted her so she'd stop whimpering, but Tate's presence made it worse. "What're you talking about?" I asked.

"Michael. He's lying to you."

"How is he lying to me?"

"You don't know what he's done. He didn't go to Washington to visit family. He didn't even go to Washington. He went to a different state and slaughtered four people because he couldn't control himself. Constance didn't even go with him. He drove all by himself to . . . I think, some northern part of California and killed four people. He drove to different states and killed two other people. He's a killer, Hazel."

There was a lump in the back of my throat that I couldn't swallow, and I choked out what ever words I could manage. "How do you know this?"

"He's my son. I have some sort paternal connection with that kid. I read his mind and . . ." Tate shook his head. "I'm asking you to stop seeing him. He'll do you nothing but harm."

"He hasn't hurt me."

"He's hurt other people."

"Like you haven't? How about those kids you murdered at your old high school?"

"That's irrelevant."

"_No, _it isn't. You're no better than Michael is, Tate. So, don't come at me with that 'I'm asking you to stop seeing him' bullshit. I have a feeling that you're jealous because I'm with him and not with you."

"You think I'm jealous and that's the reason I want you to stop seeing him? I would _never _jeopardize your relationship with anyone if I was jealous. Yeah, okay, I'm jealous, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna make up shit excuses for you to break up with him. I'm telling you these things because I don't want to see you hurt. I've done enough hurting to others and myself to last a life time. I'm living in this house for eternity and I look back on the things I've done and I can't stand myself. I'm telling you these things because I don't to see you hurt, dammit!"

Ivy whined when Tate raised his voice and I snuggled her to my chest. "I don't believe you."

"Fine. Watch the news, and let me know if I'm right or not."

* * *

><p><strong>December 26th <strong>

This morning had me on-edge. I was waiting for the news to come on, but it felt as if it never would. Until, it did. The first few stories were about three babies born on Christmas, a dog that saved a child from a burning house, and a bear roaming western California. The last story made my stomach churn and I felt like vomiting.

_On December 21st, four teenagers from northern California were reported missing. Two days later, a dog and her owner found the four teenagers dead and thrown into a pile beside an old farm. The teenagers were beaten to death, and the dead bodies were burned. Only a few body parts were untouched by the fire. As of right now, there's no evidence of the killer. The FBI is doing further investigation on this murder._

The reporter said something else, but I didn't hear anything. I was too busy running to the bathroom and throwing up my cereal. Right after that, I brushed my teeth and ate more cereal. Mom had turned off the TV, so I wouldn't listen to the horrific story on the dead teenagers. _Four of them. __Now, where's the other two. _Regardless of my curiosity, I wasn't going to turn the TV on. I've had enough already.

Ivy followed me wherever I went, and Dad handed me a tennis ball, said, "Go outside and play with Ivy." In the lightest, cheeriest tone, and I did as I was told. ivy was a very loyal and disciplined dog. She already knew her named was Ivy, and she knew to come back and give my the ball whenever she caught it. She never left my side. A few yards away, I heard something rustling. I knew who it was already. And I felt like throwing up again. But I acted as if I heard nothing, and I continued to play with Ivy. I heard him get closer.

"You got a new dog?" Michael asked.

"Don't talk to me."

"You're a little snappy today, don't you think?"

I stopped my arm form throwing the ball midway and turned towards him. "How _dare _you lie to me! I'd understand a little white lie, but _this . . __how _could you?"

"What're you talking about?"

"You didn't go to Washington for Christmas. You went to northern Cali and killed four innocent teenagers. You looked me in the eyes and _lied _to me!"

He said nothing at first, and I could see the shame in his eyes. "Hazel . ." Ivy ran up to me and stood in front of me, going into a protective stance.

"I thought you trusted me. I thought you could tell me anything."

"I do trust you, and yeah I can tell you anything but . ."

"You know I could've helped you."

"Don't you get it?" he raised his voice. "I _can't _get helped. What you're doing only suppresses my need to kill. It doesn't take it away. The longer I suppress it, the stronger my urge to kill is."

"Go away."

His breathing sped up and he his eyes widened. "Hazel, no."

"_Go _away, Michael! We're . . . over."

* * *

><p>At night, I was a horrible mess. My parents hadn't come home from work yet, and I was thankful for that. I cried as loud as I could, trying to relieve myself of the anger and despair in me. No matter how much I cried, I still felt like that. Ivy was sleeping at my feet, and every time I would whimper, her eyes would perk up and she'd look at me, whining. I petted her, trying to hold back my tears, and what came out was a combination of the sound Ivy made when she whimpers, and a silent cry.<p>

"I told you."

"I don't need to hear that, Tate," I said.

"You shouldn't cry."

Before I could even get form words, I buried my face in my blanket and cried harder. I felt the mattress sink inwards and Ivy shuffled at my feet. A pair of arms wrapped around me and I couldn't stop myself from giving in. I let Tate hold me, and I shoved my face into his neck, crying. One of his arms was wrapped around my torso, pulling me towards him, and the other arm was curled around my head, his hand softly massaging the space above my ear. Tate was warm, and he held me in a way that didn't feel like Michael's.

"It's okay," he said. "I'm here. I've got you."

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><p><strong>I felt generous today (and I have nothing better to do) so why not update? I hope you enjoyed!<strong>

**Review & let me know what you think :)**


	14. Be Mine

**Enjoy ;)**

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><p>Tate hadn't left my bed all night. No, we didn't 'sleep together', we just slept. Like babies. Well, one of us was quiet while the other was sounding like she was choking on tears. That 'she' was me. I wasn't easy all night, until Tate had woken up - I think around four in the morning, and I felt bad, because I was trying my hardest not to wake him - and he held me for an hour, as he whisper-sang me a song. His voice soothed the monsters in my head, and I finally fell asleep. In the morning (around eleven) I was officially awake, and the house smelled like bacon. I sat up and saw how bad my hair was in the mirror - my bun that was once neat, was now a big tangled mess - and noticed the spaghetti straps to my tank top were halfway down my arms. This would look so bad if my parents happened to walk in.<p>

"Goooooooood_morning, _Sleeping Beauty," Tate sang as he nudged my door open with his foot. In his hands was a silver tray with a plate and a glass on top: the first one had bacon and eggs on it, and the cup had a smoothie on it, topped with whipped cream and a cherry. "I didn't wanna get you orange juice. I know how gross orange juice tastes from right after you brush your teeth." He scrunched up his nose in disgust, forming all types of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that made me laugh.

"You cooked all this?" I asked.

"With a little help from Vivien."

I got up from bed, going into my bathroom, and quickly brushing my teeth. Tate followed me in there, not saying anything, just watching me. He looked great in his 'lazy clothes': a black t-shirt, jeans, worn-out black sneakers and his blonde hair was shaggy, as if he hadn't brushed it when he'd woken up. After my teeth were prepped and clean, I devoured the delicious breakfast without hesitation or taking a deep breath. I was so hungry.

"You deserve better," Tate commented as I chugged the strawberry smoothie. I stopped midway and sighed. "I'm - - sorry. I'm gonna shut up and let you eat." So, he did. He shut his mouth and let me finish. After I finished, I helped him wash dishes downstairs, where I felt Vivien's eyes on me. She already knew about me and Michael, I could sense it.

"You know," I started. "Michael showed me a vision."

"A vision? Of what?"

"Of us." I looked at him and noticed that he thought I was talking about _him. _"Us, as in: me and Michael." I put the dishes away and wiped my hands on a towel to dry them. "I was, like, twenty-something, and I was pregnant. I looked like a cute little hippie and me and Michael were really happy together."

"Visions change."

"Do they? Michael's been having visions about me for years, and when he saw that I was actually here he -"

"Yeah, you two dated, but do you really think you can handle being with a maniac like him? He said it himself: he can't control it. He can try and suppress it, but it only makes things worse in the long run. Do you really want to put yourself through that? You can't help him."

My mouth was open, waiting for words to form. At one point, I shut it, not knowing what to say. Until it came to me. "I . . . I _love _him, Tate. He claims that he can't be helped, but there _must _be a way!"

The three words I had said in the beginning made his face scrunch up in pain. He didn't want to hear it, but it was true. I loved Michael and I wasn't going to let him go. Not this time, not ever. But at the same time, I wanted to give up on him. Because I wasn't sure if I could take that. If I could live with the fact that the guy I'm deeply in love with is a killer. My heart said one thing, but my mind said another. I didn't know which one to listen to.

**Four days later **

I hadn't left the house in four days, and in that time, Michael has e-mailed me twenty-eight times. I hadn't even read one of them. Even though I wanted to. Tate hovered over me as I saw how many e-mails Michael had written me. "You're doing the right thing," Tate said, patting my shoulder. I sighed, thinking to myself, _It doesn't feel right. I want Michael. I need Michael! _

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><p><strong>3rd Person POV<strong>

Violet walked into Hazel's room feeling drawn to it. Whether it was because it was her old room, or because of something else, she'll never know. She walked around the room, wondering what had practically called her in there. She hadn't been in there in weeks because of Tate and Hazel. But now she didn't want to leave.

_SET THEM FREE_

Violet spun around, wondering where the hell that voice had come from.

_LET THEM GO _

She knew where she'd heard it.

_COME TO ME _

Under Hazel's bed. Violet got on her knees and peered underneath Hazel's bed. She saw a black wooden box, and she pulled it out from underneath. On the top of the chest-shaped box, was a single painted-on white eye. Even though it was poorly painted by someone from a long time ago, and the white paint was chipping off, it still felt creepy, as if it were looking past your physical body and right into your soul. _COME TO ME. _Violet could no longer contain herself. She wanted to be free, to be away from all of this. Violet opened the box, and in the box, was pure blackness. She put her hand in the box, and a bright, white light flashed her, blinding her for a brief moment. Her body began to feel numb, and she felt as if she was being born again. Violet felt great.

"I'm free," she murmured, watching her body disappear from right under her. Soon, there was nothing left of her, as her spirit was sucked into the box and it shut itself after it had brought Violet with it.

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><p><strong>Michael's POV <strong>

It's been four days since me and Hazel broke up. No exaggeration, I want to end it. My life. Everything. There's so much rage and agony inside of me, that I don't know how to react or what to do. All I've been doing is screaming and crying. I know she still loves me, I can feel it. But there's something stopping her from telling me it. From confessing what she truly feels for me. On the fourth night, I went to Hazel's, and stopped just shy from her window. Then, I threw pebbles at it. At first, nothing happened. I threw more pebbles with a little bit more force. Then, I saw Hazel's tired, beautiful face poke threw the curtains. Her eyes locked on mine, her face - expressionless. Her face disappeared from the window, and I waited. And waited. And waited. I could feel my pulse in my ears and neck, pounding hard, threatening to make my head explode.

"Michael . ."

It was Hazel. My sweet, sweet Hazel. She was wearing a tank top, under a zip-up blue jacket and sweatpants. Her hair was in a bun, and I realized how bad I missed her presence. (Even though I already missed her bad enough, but seeing her made the feeling even bigger) I missed her even though she was right in front of me.

"Hazel," I said.

"That's me."

"B-baby . . . please." I grabbed her hands, and felt her shake as soon as I touched her. She wanted to pull away, but she didn't. She let me hold her. "I love you. Please, give me another chance. We can find a way to end this damn killing cycle."

"You said there was no way of helping you."

"We'll keep searching. I'll search until I die, if that means I can have you with me for that long."

Hazel sighed, and looked at the ground. I got closer to her, and that was when I heard her sniffle. I tilted her chin up upwards and saw a tear running down her face. "I don't want to see you go through that again," she said. "It'd be safer if we were away from each other."

"No, no, Haze. It gets worse when I'm not with you. I was, _still am, _a total wreck. Do you wanna see what I did to my room?" I chuckled a little, trying to lighten up the mood. "I'd never hurt you."

Hazel bit her lip, looking at the ground again. Before I could tilt her chin up with my hand again, she curled her hands over my neck, looked into my eyes and said the things that I needed to hear, "I love you." She lifted herself on her tiptoes and pressed her lips on mine. All the despair, all the negativity that I've been feeling for the past four days, instantly lifted off of my shoulders. My hands roamed her body, stopping on her waist, giving her body a little squeeze and pulling her into me. I missed her kisses. I missed her, in general.

We pulled away from each other, and she was still shaking. Her hand stayed still on my cheek, other than her thumb which was gently caressing the side of my face. I took her hand and kissed it all over. I didn't care about anything else, the only thing I was focused on was Hazel. Right here, right now. "Will you be my girlfriend again, Hazel?" I pressed my forehead against hers and she smiled at me.

"I will." I smiled at her and lifted her chin up again, to kiss her. This time, her kisses were deeper, more passionate. A kiss that we've never shared before. I wanted her more than I wanted anything else. I felt her hands ball up into a fist in my hair, which got my heart pounding harder than I've ever felt it. Hazel slowly pulled away from me, saying, "My parents won't be home until two in the morning. Let's go to my room." With a kiss, and a smirk, I took her up on that offer, and followed her to her room.


	15. My Inner Demons

Thankfully, my parents hadn't tried to get in my room all morning, which meant that Michael wouldn't get caught. Mom and Dad had gone to work at noon, and me and Michael went downstairs, made breakfast, went for 'round two', and cuddled on my couch. I missed this. I honestly don't care about 'how many rounds' we go, I just like the feeling of our bodies becoming one, and the feeling of his lips planting themselves on each square inch of my being. It felt as if he was kissing my soul. I felt Tate's eyes on me, even though I couldn't see him. I knew he'd been watching us, and somehow, it hurt me to know that I'd hurt him. But, at the same time, I wasn't sorry. I wasn't sorry that I loved Michael. And I wasn't sorry that I had taken him back.

_I was in the basement, but all the boxes my parents had put down there were gone. In the middle of the room, was the Box of Souls. Right by the box, was Michael. He was lying down on his side, with dried blood trickling down his nose. I had screamed and ran to him, sitting on the ground and holding his torso as close as possible to my own. His eyes were shut and he was having trouble breathing._

_"Michael?" I said to him in a worried, barely audible whisper. "Michael, honey." His eyes opened, and they were blacker than midnight. He said some sentences in a different language, in a voice that didn't belong to my dear Michael. It was a mix of a woman's voice, and a man's. Both animal and human. It was the Devil's voice. He put his hand in the Box and he gasped deeply. I'd thought he had swallowed his tongue after he'd done that. His black eyes had rolled to the back of his head, and he shut them. Michael was holding his breath, and I felt tears running down my cheeks. I didn't know what was going on, nor how to fix the problem. Michael's eyes opened, and they returned to their original color: blue. He was gasping for air, and I loosened my grip a little, trying to give him space to breathe. He caught his breath and looked at me, smiling as if I had saved his life. _

_"I'm free."_

I fell off the couch and looked around, practically wheezing.

"HAZEL!" Michael got on his knees and helped me sit up. "What happened?"

"I saw it. You're - - vision."

"You did?" He hugged me, and after he pulled away, he helped me back into my robe. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you were going to see that."

"The Box can help you. It can set you free, Michael."

"Before that, I was having a nose bleed and I was unconscious. I don't know what happens before, and, I hate to say this, but I think I'd like to find out."

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><p>Around two o'clock that afternoon, Michael and I went to a psychic - who's name is Cornelia Hunz - and she 'looked into our future'. To our surprise, she told us the exact same vision of us and Michael that he had of me as a pregnant hippie. So, we believed in her gifts and asked her if there was a witch we could talk to. Thankfully, there was. But she was a whole city away. Cornelia told us we could make an appointment, and we could pay her to come to us, but it would cost us. The witch's name is Mystia Wize (real name: Michelle Wise) but she changed her name when she discovered her supernatural gifts. Michael and I made a phone call to Mystia, and asked her if it was okay for us to come down to her, because we needed some 'spiritual guidance'. She accepted, and we were on the road.<p>

Two hours later, we were in Palm Springs. I turned in my seat to look in the back, and saw the Box of Souls. Good. It hadn't rolled off the seat and onto the floor. Before I turned back around, Michael grabbed my hand. "I'm sorry I yelled at you and told you that I couldn't be helped. I just . . I gave up," he said, trying to look in my eyes but couldn't because he was driving.

"I didn't give up. I'll do anything to help you. But you wouldn't let me."

"And then I lost you. If I ever do anything like that again, I give you permission to slap me." We both laughed and I leaned towards him and kissed him on his cheek. "I love you."

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><p>We parked in front of Mystia's driveway, given that she had two Solstices - one was black, and the other was red - and got out of Michael's car, as Mystia appeared at the front door. She was in her early thirties, with a thick mass of auburn-red wavy hair that reached just past her hips. She was wearing a long-sleeved floral dress with little brown booties. She hugged us as if we were her best friends.<p>

"I've been waiting for you two!" she exclaimed, hugging me first, then hugging Michael. It struck a bit jealousy in me that I wasn't expecting. Before Mystia invited us in, I reached into Michael's car and pulled out the Box. Mystia looked at it, already knowing what it was. "Why'd you bring that here?"

"We need your help," Michael said. "We'll explain everything when we're inside." So, we did - after Mystia had led us into her bedroom, where she does her spells. There were strong entities in that room, and I'm glad they were friendly. But Michael had trouble focusing. He said that they were saying mean things to him. It put him on edge. Mystia lit some sage, which put Michael at bay with the entities. She had us sit in the middle of her room, where a massive pentagram was drawn. Mystia sat in front of us, and held the Box in her lap, hesitant to open it.

"Sorry," she said. "I've heard of this thing, but I've never actually seen it in person. It's kind of intimidating."

After she said that, we told her our problem: how Michael is the son of the Devil, and about his murderous thoughts. Mystia thought he was going crazy, but I said I'd seen his vision just by simply touching him. And I told her about the vision of setting Michael free. Mystia looked at my boyfriend, as if he was an opponent. Michael looked back her, pleading through his deep blue eyes. He wanted help. He needed it. And Mystia could help us.

"The only thing I could do is put a spell on him," Mystia said. "I could try and take away that satanic side of him. But there's a chance he could die. Is that a chance you're willing to take?" Michael and I looked at it each other, and I shook my head, but he wouldn't listen to my silent answer - ironically.

"Yes," Michael said.

"MICHAEL!" I exclaimed.

"You already saw my vision. I'm going to live."

I said nothing else, because I _did _see the vision, and he _did _survive. Mystia looked at me, and I gave a weak shrug. She escorted _me _out of the room, and kept herself and Michael in there. "No matter what happens, do _not _come in here," Mystia had said to me. I sat outside of the door, the back of my head pressing against it. I heard her chanting something in another language, and then I heard Michael scream. I was about to open the door, but I remembered what Mystia had said. I heard Michael scream, "HAZEL!" and I grabbed the knob. I couldn't do it. Mystia had warned me. I didn't want to interrupt. But he was calling for me. With all the restraint I had, I let go of the knob. I constantly checked my watch. Five minutes passed. Michael's screams were on-and-off, and then, it all stopped. I stood up and reached for the knob. Before I could grab it, Mystia opened it, and smiled at me.

"Success!" she exclaimed. I shimmied past her and saw that Michael was on his knees, breathing heavy. I put a hand on his shoulder and he freaked out. He turned towards me, and in his face was one thing: fear. I got on my knees and grabbed onto him with the leftover strength I've had in me. I pulled him into a hug and made him stay there. Michael's whimpers and cries were softening and getting lower as I held him.

"It's me," I said to him in the softest voice I could manage. "Michael, it's me, Hazel. I'm right here, baby. I'm right here." He calmed down, and Mystia appeared right behind him.

"It worked, but he's a little shaken up," she commented.

"A little?" I asked in disbelief. "More like _a lot._"

"Just get him home and let him rest, will you? He's physically and mentally tired."

"What'd you do to him?"

"I did a huge spell on him that could've killed both me and him. Yeah, I didn't tell you it would kill me, too, huh? Well, you're right about one thing, though. He's the son of Satan, and I saw it. _Him. _Lucifer. He was angry at me for taking his son away. Michael is no longer the son of Lucifer, he's just a son of some woman. He'll have to sleep for a few days. Get him to eat a lot so he can keep up his energy. Remember: a part of him has just left his body. He won't feel the same after this."

Mystia helped me get Michael in the passenger's seat of his car, and I got in the driver's. She gave me her personal number, and waved goodbye at us as we drove away. I looked at the rear-view mirror, and saw Mystia texting. Then, I looked at Michael, who was fast asleep. When we were at a stop light, I kept my eyes on him. My sweet, sweet lover, now free of his inner demons. Finally. I took off my seat belt for a brief moment, as I leaned over and kissed every inch of his face, whispered sweet nothings in his ear and buckled myself back down. I looked at the light as it turned green. My phone vibrated furiously, and I picked it up when I noticed that there were no cars surrounding me. For a split second, I read the text message I had received. It was Mystia. It read:

_Happy New Year!_

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><p><strong>I hope all you beautiful people enjoyed this chapter and have a Happy New Year! <strong>


	16. Abuse

**WARNING: This chapter is specifically rated M for explicit language. I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Michael was unpredictably violent in these past few days. Not around my parents; he did a good job restraining himself. But when me and him were alone, he was shaking uncontrollably, and I was trying to calm him down, but it didn't help. I had to lock him in the basement when it got bad. Today, it was the worst. He had broken a vase and screamed for no absolute reason, and it scared me.<p>

"Michael!" I exclaimed over his screams. "Calm down!" I came closer to him to try and calm him, but he swung, and hit me with his fist on the side of my face. I hit the wall and fell to my knees, my head was throbbing. Michael looked down at me, rage written all over his face. When he saw the look on my face, his face softened and he got to his knees.

"Hazel!" he cried, grabbing onto my face. I couldn't even look at him right now. I pushed him away from me. "I'm so sorry, Haze. Oh, my God. I didn't mean to hit you. I d-"

I grabbed his wrist tightly and pulled us both to our feet, and brought him to the basement. "You've done enough. Go."

"Hazel." His eyes were big and full of sorrow, and I was hurting physically and emotionally. Michael had laid a hand on me. At that point, I was controlling my tears, and Michael could sense that I wasn't feeling very peachy.

"You need to go. I'm not letting you out this time."

"Hazel, NO!" His face distorted back into the furious state it was in before, and I knew he wanted to hurt me. He grabbed my arms and squeezed, hard. "I'm not going down there."

"LET ME GO!"

"NO!"

"MICHAEL, STOP! YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

Someone pulled me away from him and pushed Michael down the stairs of the basement. I screamed as I saw his body roll down the stairs. I ran midway, and someone grabbed my arm, pulling me back. But I didn't want to move. I kept my eyes on Michael. He propped himself up on his arms, and I saw he had a little cut on his cheek. I wanted to cry. Michael's face showed even more anger, and for once, I was genuinely afraid of him. The person tugging on my arm said, "C'MON!" and I knew who it was: Tate. We both ran upstairs and shut the basement, locking it as we exited. Then, I bawled. Tate wrapped his arms around me and held my head close to his neck, where I could cry.

"He . . hit me," I sobbed into his neck. Immediately, I pushed him away. "YOU COULD HAVE KILLED MICHAEL!"

"I'd rather have him die than him kill you, Hazel."

My lower lip quivered, and I knew I couldn't argue with that. Michael could have killed me, but at the same time, he could have died. I went over to the kitchen island and sat on the counter, looking down at my lap and crying. "I didn't know it was gonna be that bad."

"I was watching the whole time. I couldn't decide when to come in. When he hit you, I wanted to break his neck, but then he kind of turned himself around. Then he laid his hands on you again, and that was it. I had to do something. I couldn't let him hurt you."

"Thanks."

"No need to thank me. I'd do anything for you."

"Please . . don't flirt. I can't deal with anything right now."

He got closer to me and hugged me, making my knees separate a little. Tate was warm. My senses went crazy when he hugged me, but this was wrong. I should be feeling this way for Michael. And, I do, but sometimes they're stronger for Tate. On the other hand, Michael just tried to practically kill me. Should I really be with someone who'd do that to me? I felt so powerless, so weak and vulnerable.

"I promise you," Tate said, pulling away, but cupping my cheeks with his soft, warm hands. "If he ever lays his hands on you again, it'll be the last thing he'll ever do."

There were no words in my mind, there were just indescribable emotions that I couldn't begin to fathom. Instead of talking, I grabbed onto Tate and pulled him into me, holding him. He held me in a tight, yet soft embrace, and I couldn't move. He comforted me in a way I didn't understand. But, I liked it. I felt something warm press against my cheek, and I slowly pulled away, looking at Tate with slight concern. "Did you just k-" I started, but was quickly interrupted when he pressed his lips onto mine. I grabbed at his sleeves, not knowing whether to kiss him back, or pull away. Somehow, I started crying again, and I shut my eyes and let his kisses deprive me of the horrible things I was feeling. I've never kissed Tate, and in a way, I've been wanting that.

"Sorry," Tate said, pulling away. "I shouldn't have k-" I grabbed him by his collar and pulled him onto me, kissing him as hard as I could. It was so wrong, but it felt so right. His hands grabbed my knees, sliding up towards my thighs, making me sit up straight, letting out a silent moan. Tate heard, and he laughed so quietly, I thought I had imagined it.

Michael was screaming, and he'd throw something on the wall of the basement, making the kitchen shake. I pulled away and Tate put reassuring hands on my waist. "It's okay," he said. "Michael isn't getting out of there any time soon."

"Tate," I started. "I -"

I heard something drop in the basement, like a box or something. I got to my feet and Tate stopped me. "He probably knocked over a box," Tate said.

"Or he probably hurt himself." I grabbed the door knob and looked over my shoulder. "Tate, where's the Box?"

"Um . . . I don't know."

I looked at him, with eyes wider than bowling balls, and ran down to the basement. Tate yelled something, maybe it was _NO! _as I ran down to my dear Michael, but I wouldn't know. I was too busy focused on my boyfriend. I got to the basement and couldn't spot Michael anywhere. I called out, "Michael! Michael? Baby, where are y-" something hit me on the back of my head and I fell on the ground. My ears rung and my vision was blotchy with a terrible galaxy of purple stars. I rolled over onto my back and saw my attacker: Michael. He was holding an empty wooden crate. Well, a part of a crate. It had broken when he hit me. Something warm, yet cold at the same time, trickled down my neck: blood. I cringed at that.

"Michae-" I started, but he got on his knees and wrapped his cold fingers around my neck. His eyes had turned black, and once again, I was terribly afraid of him. Of the boy I've come to love in these short, yet long, two months. I was choking out the words _no _and _stop. _But nothing helped. His grip was tightening. Then, Michael was kicked off of me by Tate, whom I watched continuously beat the living hell out of Michael.

"DON'T. FUCKING. TOUCH. HER!" Tate screamed as he swung his fists at Michael's face. I didn't know what to say or do. All I could do, at the time, was watch. Simply: watch. I've never seen Tate this angry, this determined. He wouldn't stop. And it hit me. I realized how much Tate truly cared about me. Somehow, my insides felt warm. Until I saw blood running down Michael's nose.

"STOP!" I screamed, grabbing the paused arm of Tate and pulling him away. Michael was now too weak to move. I knew his body was hurting, so he laid there, screaming in agony. It emotionally hurt me more than it physically hurt him. I bit my lip, resisting my tears. "Find the box," I said to Tate, turning my head over my right shoulder. "Please. I know how to end it."

Tate did as he was told, and I laid there, looking at Michael, who was wheezing. At one point, he stopped wheezing, and his eyes went back to their natural blue color. He looked at me, at the drying blood that ran like a tiny river down the side of my neck, into the back of my shirt and down my chest. He looked at me, eyes full of tears and regret. "No," He whispered. "I did that . ." He screamed and punched the wall, screaming some more. Holding his hand because of the pain, he cried, not because of the pain. But because of what he'd done to me. "I'm so sorry," Michael said in between sobs. He was crying so hard. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. "I love you." He put a hand on my face and I twitched. He noticed it, and that slight move hurt him even more. "I love you. Please, forgive me. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry!" He grabbed my face, crying, kissing my nose. Tate pushed him away from me, saying, "Get off her!" He got on his knees to get on our level and put the Box on my lap. Michael looked at Tate, saying, "Who are you?"

I looked at Tate as he said, "I'm your father. Hey, son. You just tried to kill your girlfriend, and I'm not quite proud of that." I opened the box and grabbed onto Michael's hand.

"You're so young . . " he said.

"I died young. Anyways, stick your hand in that damn box so you can get rid of your demons." I forced Michael's hand in the box and he took a sharp inhale. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and I jumped in my seat. I held onto his wrist tightly, not wanting to let go. He collapsed onto his side and began twitching. Then, his whole body shook with such force, I exclaimed, "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? THIS ISN'T WHAT'S SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!" Michael was having a seizure. His eyes were white as snow, and I was screaming, holding his body down. He had subconsciously held onto my arm. Hard. "STOP IT!" I yelled at his seizure. "STOP!" His seizure softened, and his body slowly stopped shaking. Michael's body softened onto the ground, and his grip on my arm was no longer there. He let go of me. "Michael?" I patted his face lightly, lifting one of his closed eyelids with my thumb. His eyes were blue, and aimed at me, but he wasn't staring at me. His eyes were glassy and his gaze was somewhere else. I put my head on his chest, and heard absolutely nothing. I started breathing heavy.

"Michael," I whispered, noticing the crack in my voice. "Michael, baby, please wake up." He didn't move. That's when I felt it, his body had turned cold. "NO, MICHAEL! MICHAEL! PLEASE WAKE UP! MICHAEL! NO!" Michael wasn't moving. Michael was dead.

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><p><strong>Sorry I didn't update for a while. I was out of state for the end of my winter break. <strong>

**Please Review and let me know how your break was, what you got, and last but not least: HOW YOU THOUGHT THIS CHAPTER WAS! :D**


	17. Mikah

I wouldn't move from Michael's side. I hadn't moved his body, and I told Tate to go away. Before he could even say anything, he vanished. Leaving me there with the dead body of my beloved boyfriend. That's when I cried. I sobbed harder than I could ever remember. I don't recall crying this much when my grandmother died when I was fourteen. Now, I was practically drinking my tears. My hands found Michael's face, and I caressed him, laying down beside his cold body. I told him sweet nothings and told him all of the places we went, and how he made me feel, and how these were the craziest two months of my life. With an elbow, I propped myself up and onto my side, having an awkward high angle of his face. Even in death, he was still beautiful. He gave death such a beautiful look: so soft, white, delicate, like the petals of the tulips planted around our gazebo. I still touched his face. I couldn't decide if I was afraid of death even more than I already was, or if Michael's made me appreciate it. Yes, death is full of sorrow for the people that loved the one that passed away, but for the person that's no longer with us, it's an escape from this cruel world. No more pain. No more sorrow. None of that. Michael was free, and I had to accept it.

But I couldn't.

"I love you," I murmured into his ear. "Please, don't leave me." I felt my lip quiver, and I kissed his ear as a single tear ran down the side of my face. I could feel the dried blood on the back of my neck, and I was slightly dizzy, but I didn't care.

I sang to Michael. It was one of our favorite songs - _Hey There Delilah _by _Plain White T's. _Obviously, I switched the roles, and instead of the name _Delilah, _I switched the name to Mikah, because that is the name of our child. Michael and I have talked about names of children, and I know he's caught on to some of that. But he doesn't know that, yes, I am pregnant. I was going to tell him after we came back from Mystia's. But, that's when he got all crazy and violent. I found out I was pregnant just three weeks after I lost my virginity to Michael, when I threw up. And I've been keeping it a secret, waiting for the right moment.

Leaning down, I kissed his cold lips, crying a little more. "I'll tell Mikah all about you," I started, my tears coming out practically in streams. "I'll tell him or her how great you were to me, and how much we loved each other. He or she will know how much of a Picasso you were, and how great of a person you were. And . . " I couldn't make words anymore, I was crying so hard. "I'll tell our baby how much you would have liked to met him." I sniffled. "Or her." I kissed his cold nose and pressed my forehead. I sang again, now they were random lyrics from different songs. "I wish I could have saved you."

Michael's chest heaved upwards, and I flinched. I looked from his chest, to his face, then back to his chest. "M-" I started, but then he sat up, coughing hard, as if he was choking on water. I backed away slowly, not sure if it was Normal Michael, or Psycho Michael. He looked at me. I looked at him. "Michael?" I asked. He crawled to me, wrapping his arms tightly around my torso.

"I'm. So. Sorry." It was him. My sweet Michael. Now, my tears wouldn't stop. I sounded like a squealing pup. "Don't cry, baby."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, DON'T CRY?" I pulled away from him, holding his face. "I just witnessed you die and come back to life. I can cry if I want to." I kissed him, engulfing him in the most passionate kiss I could manifest. I loved this boy. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."

"Is it true?"

"Yeah, you died and -"

"No, not that." He put his hand on my stomach. "You sung our song, but with the name Mikah." I knew what he was talking about, the name Mikah. "Are you pregnant?"

I bit my lip, answering without words. Michael's face was blank at first, but then he smiled wide, from ear to ear, and laughed as if he had won the lottery. "I'M GONNA BE A DAD!" The ground vibrated, and we pulled away from each other, thinking it was an earthquake. But then, I saw Tate, behind Michael, his back on a wall, looking angrily at us. He walked quickly to some direction: the Box. I got up and ran to him.

"STOP!" I placed my hands on Tate's chest, trying to stop him. "TATE! NO!" He grabbed my arms, pulling me away.

"I'm done living in this shit house. I've only loved two people, and I had my hopes up for you. Now that you've chosen, and you're _pregnant, _there's absolutely no point in me being here. I hope you and Michael have a great life together." I could see tears in his eyes. He grabbed the Box, and opened it. He looked at Michael. "Take care of Hazel, because she's the best thing that'll ever happen to you. Take care of my grandchild, too." With one hand, Tate grabbed my face, kissed me, said, "I love you," and stuck his hand in the Box. Instantly, he disappeared. My mouth was open, not believing what had happened. Michael looked at me, he was mad that Tate had kissed me.

"He's gone," I said quietly.

"Yeah... it had to happen. Sooner or later, his spirit had to leave this world. Earth shouldn't have spirits roaming around it. It wasn't right for him, or for you." I looked at him. "Was he here with you the whole time? When you stayed in your room, did he visit you?"

I nodded.

"Did he . . ."

"No!" I exclaimed. "Even if he tried, I wouldn't let him!" I thought about the scene in the kitchen where Tate and I had a make out session. I regretted it, but at the same time, I didn't.

"My _father _tried to _hook up _with my girlfriend."

"He didn't just want to hook up with me. He loved me, and he deserved to live."

"You don't get it, Hazel, do you? He was never truly _alive. _His soul was _stuck _here for all eternity until a few seconds ago. For you, his death was a moment ago, but his true death was . . . well, whenever he died, which I'm sure was more than twenty years ago." He looked at me for a while, and his face shown an expression that I couldn't figure out. . . "You loved him, too."

"What!" I exclaimed again. "No, Michael! You know I love you and only y-"

"Look me in the eye and _tell _me you didn't feel the same way!"

I looked him straight in the eye and said, "I never loved him." Which, was the biggest lie in human history. I did love Tate. I found that out when we were kissing. The way he made me feel, the way he held me . . . I felt his love radiating off of him and he felt mine. And now he's gone forever . . .

"I believe you." No, he didn't. I knew he didn't. "You should go to a hospital." He lightly touched the back of my neck, and I winced. "I can tell you're light-headed. And you can't focus your vision."

"I just need to sleep." I knew I didn't need to sleep.

"What you need is a hospital." He shook his head and bit his lower lip. "Damn . . . what're you gonna say when they ask you how that got there?"

"I'll say . . . that . . . I fell down the stairs and hit my head."

Michael grabbed my face gently and kissed me, saying afterwards, "I promise you, I'll never hurt you. Ever again." And he took me in his car, and drove me to the hospital. Until I realized, we had passed the hospital.


End file.
